Second Chances
by Forgotten-empress
Summary: Harry/Draco. After Deathly Hallows, ignores epilogue. Harry and the gang go back to Hogwarts after the Second War, and Harry is given the chance to do what he refused in first year: take Draco's hand in friendship.
1. Prologue

_**Information:** Canon with DH ending, but not the epilogue (EWE). In this story everyone is given a chance to go back to Hogwarts to finish their 7th year, and explores the aftershock of the Second War. Even in these new times of peace, something manages to go wrong for Harry, and he has to change his whole outlook on everything._

_**Pairings: **Hermione/Ron, Ginny/Harry, leading into Friendship!Harry/Draco. I'm still not sure with this pairing, so we'll just see how it goes_

_**Rating: **Upgraded to M because there's going to be some violence._

_Its a slow start, I know, but I want to get everything set up right first. Reviews appreciated!_

_Here we go_

* * *

_Chapter One - Prologue_

Harry gave a loud sigh as he let the weight of his body drop down to a slouch. He sat on the edge of an armchair in the living room of the Burrow trying to avoid eye contact with his two best friends sharing the sofa across from him. He had been so weary lately due to a combination of sleepless nights, recurring nightmares, and avoiding the press. Or at least trying to, anyway. Everything was piling up and it had taken its toll on him in the past ten weeks.

"Hermione, I know you mean well, but I just can't," he trailed off as he looked up and saw her pleading eyes. Hermione had not changed at all despite everything that had happened. Her face appeared to be a little hollowed out, thinner now, with shadows under her eyes, but she was still the same insistent person as always.

Hermione flinched, something she had been doing more and more lately, probably bracing for the inevitable negative reaction to follow, likely hoping for any conflict to be quick and painless. Ron put his arm around her waist to comfort her, and Harry saw her release some tension. Those two had grown closer than ever before, but Harry suspected they were only brought together by heartache. Lately that was the main feeling of the Burrow residents, and it was persistently lingering on.

"Harry," Hermione finally spoke up, with a particularly soft voice. She sounded exhausted. "It's the right thing to do."

She lifted her arms in front of her, holding the parchment out for him to take. But Harry didn't take it. Instead he dropped his head to the ground and rested it in the palm of his hand. He knew that she was not going to let up, and he didn't want to be lectured any more. She was right, but Harry had no more strength left to keep fighting. He felt it suited him much better to just carry on in the shadows of the world with only his misery to keep him company. His whole life had lead up to a heartbeat's length of a moment, but it took all of the strength and effort that he had in his heart. Now that it was all over, he just wanted to run away, close the curtains, and sleep forever.

"What do you think, Ron?" he mumbled, head still in his hand as another heavy sigh escaped his breath.

"You know me, mate. I'm with Hermione." Harry could hear shifting that he figured meant they had moved closer together on the sofa. Hermione was a good influence on them.

Obviously defeated by a majority vote, Harry knew that he had no choice but to follow them. Only a year ago he had been ready and willing to set out on his monumental task alone, and just a couple of hours ago he was seriously considering dropping everything and leaving again. He didn't want Ron and Hermione to see him like this, let alone anyone in the wizarding public. Everything would go back to normal and be better if he wasn't a part of it all. But his friends had managed to convince him last year to listen, and if it wasn't for them everyone would probably be dead by now. They were the only real friends he had and he needed them, despite how much he wanted to deny it. What harm would come from listening to them once more? Only good had come from it all so far. But he wouldn't cave in as quickly as they would have liked. If Hermione had realised she'd won, the laughter and chatter would begin, and Harry much preferred the silence. Even with the sad faces, these past few weeks had been golden.

Harry rose slowly from his chair and smiled sullenly at his friends. "I need some more time to think about this," he mumbled, and they nodded. With that, he trudged out of the living room and up the stairs to his room, making a great effort to not turn around and look at the letter still in Hermione's hands.

* * *

Harry closed his sore eyes as he lay on his bed. The bed formerly belonging to Fred. He now shared the room with ex-twin George, an arrangement thought up by Hermione who didn't want Harry and George to be left alone for fear of a trip to St. Mungo's. Even though the two wizards rarely saw each other and scarcely spoke, there was some quiet comfort in the other's presence, and Harry was content with that.

The Burrow seemed more crowded now than it ever had before, with the single exception of Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was the one moment that Harry kept recalling while he brooded. The wedding had been the last time he saw everyone together, trying to be happy. Meanwhile, Harry was disguised as a Weasley and trying desperately to find the right moment to slip away and embark on the one adventure he was certain there was no return from. His mind was in a shambles back then just as much as it was now, and he knew in the pit of his stomach that these happy memories were just forced smiles and glancing over shoulders. Worst of all, it was all because of him.

Naturally, Harry did not speak to anyone of his grievances. They all had their own problems to deal with, and he knew they'd try to reassure him rather than actually listen. After all, everything was over now. But it wasn't, not really. If everything was finished, folded neatly into a tidy package, why did he still feel so terrible? It was times like this when he wished he could walk across the room and stroke Hedwig in her cage, but he couldn't. She was gone. And so were so many other people, most of whom he cherished. For one, he was lying atop Fred's bed… his bed now, almost as if Fred never existed in the first place. Then there was Dobby and Dumbledore. Snape also flickered into his mind; the one man whom he had misjudged so gravely, for whom he had new respect. Harry wished the plot had been revealed sooner, to have a chance to try to not hate the real man behind that veil of greasy black hair and treacherous sneers. But it was too little, too late. Respect was gained, but the hate was still there. A similar problem existed for so many people, so many who died just after Harry found there had been a chance for a connection. Fate must have laughed ecstatically as it plucked one person after another from his grasp as they revealed themselves to him. Mad Eye, Sirius, Lupin, Tonks. All martyrs, leaving behind questions that could never be answered. Mad Eye could have been a great mentor; Sirius, a godfather. Lupin and Tonks left behind a son in very much the same legacy as Harry. He knew only too well how difficult it would be for that child to grow up without parents. Even after all this time, it still hurt to think of his own parents. They were the first casualties at the pivotal point where the first war ended, and the second began. Two generations, two wars. Harry's only wishes were that all the fighting could stop and everything can slow down to a halt. Everyone needed time to properly grieve for their loved ones; Harry needed to grieve for his whole life.

Barely any time had passed since his last battle, and already he was being presented with another one. It was a challenge that he had to undertake, and even though he had already decided he would go ahead with it, Harry could only feel angry and scared. He silently cursed that he couldn't just take some time off and let his head cool. _If I don't stand up and face it, I'll only get buried in letters. Just like when I first found out about the wizarding world, _he though bitterly. Two and a half months was certainly not a long enough break, and in a cruel irony, it was Hogwarts that had persisted again, sending him one last owl.


	2. McGonagall's Letters

_Chapter Two - McGonagall's Letters_

* * *

A few hours prior, Hermione was sitting in her usual place at the Burrow dining table eating marmalade on toast and patiently waiting for that day's issue of the _Daily Prophet_. Despite it being the middle of July, new stories cropped up every day in relation to the war, and she was always eager to fill her mind with new information she could store away for a rainy day. She gave a start when she heard the soft landing of a grey owl upon the table and snatched up the paper like a greedy child grabbing at candy. What was emblazoned on the front page of the paper was not quite what she was expecting.

**_BY DECREE OF ACTING MINISTER SHACKLEBOLT_**

**_HOGWARTS SET TO REOPEN FOR THE NEW SCHOOL YEAR_**

The article drawled on about how it had taken several months to repair the grounds and examine all confiscated wizarding paraphernalia as instructed by the Ministry of Magic. Countless inspections had been conducted, and skilled witches and wizards were still removing the lingering stains of curses from the 'Great Battle of Hogwarts', whilst others worked on creating better and stronger charms to ensure the future students would be safe. The _Prophet_ boasted security rivalling the vaults at Gringotts, and Hermione scoffed. Still, she figured that if they were going to reopen the school something like this was bound to happen. She understood how important it was, especially now, that the magically inclined received a proper education. What she did not expect, however, was the heading halfway down the page in a slightly smaller typeset:

**_STUDENTS AFFECTED BY THE MAY PROCEEDINGS WELCOMED BACK_**

_Newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall stated today that she encourages all young witches and wizards whose study was affected by the events of the May 2nd battle with You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters to return to Hogwarts this year to continue with their education. She has made it clear that the invitation stretches out to not only current students, but also those who were detained or withdrew enrolment due to genuine concern for their wellbeing over the past year. In response to the last school year being wasted due to closure before exams, McGonagall states that she will allow all students who attended time to catch up to the position they should be at, so that they may still study at their expected level of achievement before this school year is out. Regarding students who missed the full period and those who would otherwise be graduating this month, McGonagall extends an invitation to retake their last year. "Although it seems like 'tough love', the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test, or N.E.W.T., is something that can not be achieved by merely catching-up for a few weeks," the Headmistress pointed._

The rest of the article went on to say that all eligible students would receive an owl with further specific instructions and that she urged parents to understand the level of precautions that the school was now taking to ensure everyone's safety. It was obvious that if they didn't take some hard steps now, Hogwarts could likely be shut down for good.

Hermione smiled to herself as she finished reading the article, just as Ron and Ginny stepped into the room.

"What's news?" Ron asked her sleepily as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his arm, oblivious to the bold flashing letters coming from the front page of the _Prophet_.

Ginny had already sat down at the table and eyed the paper curiously, trying to read the words upside down. Hermione rolled her eyes at the silliness of this and turned it around so that Ginny could read it properly. After a minute or so, she looked up quizzically at Hermione, still trying to let everything sink in. Meanwhile, Ron, still standing in the middle of the kitchen, scratched his head. Hermione's patience was running thin, and she wanted to just tell them in plain English rather than wait for their drowsy morning heads to catch up, but she hesitated a moment longer.

"So you're going back?" Ginny whispered, her voice finally breaking the ice. She looked like a bag of emotions, unsure of which ones to use, but when she saw Hermione's smile widen across her face, she leapt up and reached across the table to give her an excited hug.

"It's a shame that I've fallen behind by a year," Hermione said in between Ginny's arms with some lament, "but at least I'll be able to finish Hogwarts properly now." Her smile grew even wider, and she even caught herself laughing – something she hadn't done in some time.

* * *

Ron looked up suddenly as he noticed the sound of Hermione's laughter. It must have been a real surprise, to be able to snap that mess of a mind awake in a split second. He was only just realising that Hermione and Ginny were embracing over the table when he saw an owl swoop delicately through the window and next to the girls, then another, and another. It was upon the fourth owl's landing that they seemed to notice, breaking apart to inspect why there were so many birds in the small kitchen.

Ron stepped forward and plucked a letter from one bird's mouth to see the seal of Hogwarts, the letter addressed to him. As he hadn't been paying attention, he didn't know what to make of the situation. Hermione and Ginny giggled at his reaction.

"Go on, open it!" Hermione squeaked in excitement, and he did what she said. Inside was an ivory parchment written in gold ink that shone in the morning sunlight.

_Ronald Weasley,_

_It has been noted that you failed to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last September, or for any time afterwards as consequence of contracting spattergroit. Due to the circumstances being as they are, I have deemed it suitable to invite you back to Hogwarts for the opportunity to complete your final year and N.E.W.T.s. However, because you missed a whole year of school, you will not be reinstated as a prefect, and therefore cannot be included in the pool for Head Boy. Although this may come as an unfortunate piece of news, I advise that this may be a more suiting course to allow you to concentrate on your studies._

_I shall hope to see you in September._

_Best Wishes,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Ron's mouth dropped in what seemed to be a silent yelp. He couldn't believe that he was being given a second chance. He had been spending the past few weeks trying to help out George with the joke shop, but made a clumsy mess of everything. By now, he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to gain any real kind of employment without finishing his time at Hogwarts. After all the time he had spent at Harry and Hermione's side, he decided quietly that the life of an Auror seemed like something exciting that he might like to do, but had despaired that he needed to finish his N.E.W.T.s first. For the first time in over a year he was actually looking forward to walking down the halls of the castle towards Gryffindor Tower, and he wasn't afraid to let his emotions out.

* * *

Hermione nodded to herself, noting how Ron's face lit up as he read the letter. She wasn't sure if he wanted to go back, and she hadn't taken it upon herself to ask him yet, but this was certainly a good response. One of the owls made a clicking sound in its throat to steal her attention, and she quickly took the letter addressed to her. It was written in the same golden ink in McGonagall's handwriting as Ron's, and the only real difference was that she had identified Hermione's absence to be due to a family trip to Australia. Hermione gasped as she read the thin gold script. She had no idea that McGonagall was aware of what had happened to her parents. After everything that happened, Hermione decided that it would be safest to leave them be for the time being, and bring them back once everything had calmed down a little.

_At least I have their support if something happens, _she reassured herself, as she looked up to see Ginny reading her letter now. Glancing over the top of the parchment she could work out writing of the same style, this time following closer to the usual Hogwarts letter format, and with normal ink. However, halfway down the page the delicately sloped words shone gold as it mentioned that Ginny had been allowed to continue to her seventh year so long as she took remedial classes for a month in her N.E.W.T. classes. As Hermione pondered how much revision she'd need to start, she suddenly realised that they had all missed something.

"Ginny," she said weakly as she gave a little cough after taking a short gasp, continuing again once she caught her breath. "We're all going to be in the same classes."

"Really?" Ginny exclaimed, "I thought you guys would be in some special focus classes or something." She clasped her hands together.

Hermione pulled her face into her usual thinking pose as she thought things through logically. "Well," she began, "I doubt that _everyone_ will be returning to Hogwarts after everything that has happened, so I think that they'll probably put us with your year to keep the class sizes up and give the teachers less work. We'll be learning the same things, anyway." She nodded to herself, as if she had known this all along.

Ginny lit up like a Christmas tree when she heard this. "Suddenly I don't feel like the youngest anymore," she joked at Ron, giving his shoulder a nudge with her hand. "A bit more like Fred and George-" she stopped herself quickly and her hands flew up over her mouth.

The sudden mention of Fred had hit the room like a sinking ship. Everyone's delight had suddenly dropped back into the gloom as all three youths recalled back to the dark evening at Hogwarts castle. It was at that moment, too, that Hermione realised that Hogwarts was not only their beloved school, but also the place where many of their friends had died. It was so obvious, yet she somehow managed to let herself forget. Yet, the effort was more like trying to fix a hole in the roof with sand – no matter how hard she tried, it just kept falling through, and the gap remained. She watched sadly as Ron wrapped his arm around his sister, Ginny sobbing softly into the hands she had clasped over her face. The blanket of despair that covered this house had only been lifted for a few short minutes before it enveloped them all over again.

* * *

Hermione snatched the final untouched letter from the fourth owl's mouth, and without a glance moved towards the staircase. She looked back at the two Weasleys and softly mentioned that she was going to go tell Harry the good news. She left them in the kitchen as she climbed the stairs and hoped he would take this as positively as they had initially_. That boy needs something to lighten his mood, or else he might never come out of that room again,_ she thought to herself.

Harry lifted his head sleepily as he heard a gentle rattle coming from the door in what he could only decipher as a nervous knock. Lately he was short tempered and first to find the flaws in any plans to move forward. He could see no such way to do so, and he was so grumpy everyone had to think twice before they said anything to him short of "_Dinner's ready_".

Harry sat up hastily on the bed, rubbing his eyes and wincing as he let his head clear. He then gave a weak grunt; one that he guessed was an approval, as Hermione emerged from the other side of the door.

She was wearing a cautious smile that suggested good news of some sorts, but what one piece of good news had come in all of two months? When he saw Hermione sit on George's bed and face him, he knew that it could only be ill tidings. He held his head in his hands, something he had been doing a lot lately, only hoping that Hermione would see that he was feeling exasperated and she would go away. Often Hermione had attempted to cheer him up with letters from vague acquaintances or exceptionally positive excerpts of memos from members of the Ministry of Magic, but he didn't want the attention. Just last week he had turned down an honorary decree of recognition for displays of great valour for humankind, both wizard and muggle – he felt that the ministry was trying to scrape together anything they could to keep hopes high, and he didn't want a second of the attention that came with that.

"Are you okay Harry?" Hermione asked, leaning in to put one hand on his shoulder as one would to comfort a small child.

"I guess," he exhaled.

"Have you been having nightmares again?" her tone was sickly sweet

Even though they were two questions that Hermione had a right to ask as a friend, Harry felt that she was trying to strangle him with her words. Yes, Harry was going through the roughest patch he had yet to encounter so far in his highly eventful life, but his friends _knew_ that he didn't take to comfort in these situations well. Eventually something would come along and make everything feel a bit better, but for now he would wait until that thing presented itself.

As much as he wanted to, Harry didn't yell out in anger that _of course_ he was still having nightmares, _not like they really cared_, something that he didn't expect to ever go away. Instead, he glared sharply at Hermione hoping she would quit while she was ahead.

"I'm fine Hermione," he exhaled, and turned his attention to the letter to stop her rebuttal. "What's this about?" He pointed lazily at the letter in her hand with feigned interest, but it seemed to do the trick.

"It's from Hogwarts! They're rebuilding and are going to start classes again in September! Oh Harry, here… look!" Hermione, quick to cling to the change in subject, seemed too excited to gather her words as precisely as she usually did. He wasn't sure what to make of it. She reached over to give Harry the letter, glee bubbling over her face in anticipation of his reaction that she obviously expected to be positive.

He took the letter and eyed the wax seal bearing the Hogwarts crest with curiosity. Since he was approaching his eighteenth birthday he knew that there was no reason for them to be contacting him regarding tuition, and if it was a personal matter, whoever sent the letter would not have used an official seal. But he lifted his finger underneath to pull open the top of the envelope, despite knowing that there was no other reason for Hogwarts to be contacting him. He gave a wry look in Hermione's direction, and she smiled back, a little more nervously this time.

As Harry tugged out the letter, he saw a twinkle of silver fall out of the envelope and onto his lap. Perplexed, he picked up a small badge and eyed it. The letter "C" was embossed on a small silver badge, and he knew only too well that it was the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain badge. He frowned and set down the badge, returning to the letter that was now resting on top of his leg. Harry suddenly had an idea of what was going on, so he tossed it back to Hermione who fumbled to catch it and shot him a puzzled look.

"You read it," he said simply.

* * *

Hermione gave the letter a quick glimpse and noticed that this was different to the other three she had seen so far. The parchment was stark white and had a luminescent quality, probably something that was kept for special occasions, and the lettering, although gold like that in hers, sparkled and shone even here in the gloomy room… not unlike Felix Felicis. It looked like a much more personal letter from McGonagall, rather than a standard script like what she, Ron and Ginny had received. She gathered her thoughts together and, after taking in the letter itself, began to read aloud the words neatly written across it.

_"Harry Potter,_

_"I understand that it has been a dark time in the wizarding world of late, and I am sure that you must still be trying to cope with everything that has come of this. Allow me to express my deepest thanks to you, your friends, and your family for making such gallant sacrifices in the name of everything good, and so that we were finally able to prevail against You-Know-Who. Although I was always sceptical of your methods and reasons, Mr. Potter, I understand now that everything has played out precisely in such a way that it was foretold by the Prophecy and that you made the right decision in the end. Once again, you have my utmost gratitude for all that you have done._

_"On a lighter note, you may have read in the _Daily Prophet_ today that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be reopening with the new school year, and that all students who were unable to attend last year for whatever reason have been welcomed back with open arms if they wish to return to continue or finalise their studies. This offer is also available to you if you so please, and in the event of your return you will be placed amongst the other students who will be entering their seventh year of study this year. I understand that you may have your reservations against returning, but might I remind you that you are required to complete your N.E.W.T. level classes if you wish to eventually become an Auror, and even the great Harry Potter will not be given any exceptions so easily._

_"You will also note the Gryffindor Quidditch Captian badge along with this letter, which I am offering to you upon your return. As the Death Eaters took over parts of the Ministry of Magic, and also part of our beloved school, they set to undertake certain methods that Dolores Umbridge once instigated during her short time at Hogwarts. One such result was the indefinite hiatus of Quidditch for the entirety of the last school year. One consequence I have bestowed upon those who did not return to Hogwarts last year was the stripping of their extracurricular duties, such as Prefecture, but as you were the last person to hold the title of Quidditch Captain, I only deem it fitting to return it to you as we reinstate the game in our curriculum._

_"Please take into account that we have instigated all necessary precautions against anyone who may seek to act out against you, and with our newfound support from the Ministry we are sure that we can keep that promise. I hope to see you in September._

_"Be well,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"_

Hermione peered from the letter she had just read to study the reaction, or lack of one, on Harry's face. He appeared to be using some emotion that she had never come across before, and it made her a little more nervous.

"Um… Harry?" she whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would set him off.

Harry lay back onto the bed in response and held the silver badge up to the ceiling, examining it. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of this, so she stayed silent, patiently waiting for him to give verbal confirmation that he had taken everything in. Eventually, Harry opened his mouth speak after what seemed like minutes of silence.

"No," he said in a matter-of-fact tone rather anti-climatically, the word stirring Hermione.

"What do you mean '_no_'?" she said, half questioning, half demanding. He was being presented with a great opportunity and all he could say was '_no_'? _He's doing worse than I expected_, she thought to herself as she shifted her weight on the, preparing her rebuttal to whatever he would say next.

"I mean I'm done Hermione," he breathed, as if it caused him great anguish to move his mouth and form words. Before Hermione could interject he continued, "I don't think I can go back there after all of this."

"Harry, you can't just close your eyes to the future-" Hermione began, but she was interrupted as Harry sat up and placed the badge beside him on his bed.

"But I can't just ignore everything that happened either!" His voice began to rise, and he knew that this would become a yelling match before too soon, but he didn't care.

"What are you going to do if you don't go back?"

"I'll think of something. George didn't finish his N.E.W.T.s, and he's running a successful business, no worries!" Harry carefully treaded around his wording to not bring up any painful memories by mistakenly bringing up the other twin.

"Yes, but didn't you want to be an Auror? You can't do that unless you go back!" Hermione's voice was rising a little too, but she seemed more like she was pleading with Harry than anything else.

"Maybe I don't want to be an Auror anymore! Maybe I never did! I never knew who I was supposed to be, and nothing's changed! I still don't know half as much about being a wizard as a child. Maybe I'll do better working as a busboy instead. At least that way I won't have anyone staring at me, wondering if I'll either shake their hand or burn it off!"

Harry stood up, his height bearing over Hermione as she sat on George's bed. He would have continued his rant about how everyone expected him to do things without any respect for his own feelings about the matter, but the bedroom door swung open to a frazzled Molly Weasley interrupting him.

"Harry, you're up! Good!" she beamed, obviously trying to cover up the fact that she had only barged in because she could hear yelling. "Come Harry, have you had breakfast yet? It's already ten o'clock! We need to get some food into you before lunch time or you'll have a stomach ache," and with that she ushered him out of the room and down the stairs, Hermione still glued to the bed in shock at her great timing.

_No wonder none of the Weasleys have killed one another yet, _she though admiringly, _Molly sure knows how to break up a fight. _But the thought was short-lived, as she looked over at Harry's bed and remember that the Weasleys didn't need to kill each other.

Remnants of the heated conversation lingered in the room, and Hermione knew that to convince Harry she would need help. She then decided that after Harry had finished breakfast and properly woke up she would somehow corner him in the living room with Ron and try to talk some sense in him.


	3. Diagon Alley

_Chapter Three - Diagon Alley_

* * *

Harry leaned against the wall cautiously, straining to eavesdrop for lack Extendable Ears. He had spent an hour trying to figure out the best way to tell Ron and Hermione that he had given in, and as he made the descent into the living room to surrender he managed to stop just in time from walking in on his friends whispering feverously. In one well-trained movement Harry pressed himself close to the wall out of sight and hoped he wouldn't be detected. He couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but Harry suspected he was the topic of conversation… most things had been that way lately.

He couldn't blame them, even though the fact that his friendship was slowly unravelling tugged at the back of his throat. He hadn't done much to save the situation, sleeping most days as if he hadn't slept in all of his seven years of being a wizard. Harry decided that he didn't care what anyone else though, not even his friends. He just wanted to sleep. Unfortunately for him, it was not meant to be. The sun had not even risen to mark his first day of freedom when the letters started coming. Of course, Harry was known for frequenting the Burrow, and so a proportion of the letters were sent there whilst the others were piled in heaps outside of Privet Drive and even where 12 Grimmauld place would sit if visible. The protective spells set about the Burrow had prevented the owls from entering the airspace, so for a few moments it seemed like being inside of a bauble. There had to have been more owls there than at Privet Drive, perhaps even a hundred times more. Everyone wanted a piece of the action.

Harry had known from that point that his presence in the wizarding society, whether positive or negative, would increase exponentially, and he didn't like it. He took to locking himself up and closing every figurative curtain from everyone and anyone who might try to peer in for a glimpse. He was feeling quite pleased at his reclusion until Hermione suggested he wasn't acting unlike his uncle Vernon, keeping him locked up in the cupboard under the stairs. Now Harry felt repulsed, but he didn't know any better way to get away from the attention so he carried on. He kept himself inside as much as possible and his eyes watered when light filtered through the kitchen curtains. When other friends realised heard that Harry was becoming agoraphobic they all came to the Burrow to visit, and the house was nearly always entertaining at least one guest each day. Although it was nice seeing Luna visit, alone – her father making the wise decision to keep his distance, the other friendly faces didn't seem so friendly to him. Soon Harry locked himself in the bedroom he shared with George, feeling uncomfortable when talk about celebration and devastation began. No wonder going back to Hogwarts was such a big deal.

Harry let his mind blur back into reality and resumed his eavesdrop. A warm sensation clasped his shoulder and he yelped in duress, but it was only Ginny behind him on the next step up. He frowned at her and motioned her to keep quiet, but it was too late. The chatter in the living room had stopped, and Harry knew he had given himself away. Ginny giggled in amusement with her usual naivety, and he wondered when she would start to act more like an adult. She would be of legal age in about a month, and despite her strength and determination, Ginny still insisted on being a little girl.

"Harry?" Hermione appeared from the corner and folded her arms when she realised he had been spying on her. "Harry, what are you doing?" she asked sheepishly.

"N-nothing," he stammered, unsure of why _he_ was feeling so nervous now. Sure, he had been trying to listen in on them, but he didn't actually _hear _anything. He hadn't even meant to… his instincts just kicked in. After remembering why he was there in the first place, he collected his wits and stood up straight. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about this morning."

Hermione loosened the fold of her arms and sagged a little. "Yeah, that's what we were talking about just then." She jerked her head in the direction of the living room, where Ron was sitting awkwardly in one of the armchairs, pretending to be invisible. "Why don't we all sit down?"

Hermione's request was actually more of an order, so Harry didn't bother with a comeback. He followed her into the living room, Ginny at tow. Hermione sat in an old armchair and Ginny pulled Harry to sit with her on the loveseat. He liked having her there next to him; the soft skin of her leg brushing against his was comforting and eased his mind a little, even if it was only little consolation when he peered up to see Hermione's piercing gaze squarely on him.

"So," Hermione began, shifting a little in her seat, "I take it that you've already heard most of what we have to say?" She let her eyes dart over to Ron's quickly and he gladly let her do the talking.

"Not a word, actually." Harry gazed back at Hermione, clearly unfazed. "All of this sneaking around that we've been so used to seems to have paid off for something, at least." He let out an awkward chuckle that didn't seem to help the situation.

"Well, we've decided that even though you're set on not returning to Hogwarts, we're still going back." Hermione's eyes flickered sadly. Harry gave a smug smile, but before he could say anything Hermione had already started talking again. "I feel really bad about just leaving you after all of this time, especially after everything that's happened, but we can't just sit around and do nothing before you decide to snap back into reality. The war is _over_ Harry, and the next step is to rebuild and return to some form of normalcy."

Harry tried again to cut into her words, but Ron made a frown. "Harry, she's right," he said simply, and he reached to grab Hermione's hand in a gesture of support. "I know you're happy to be left all alone, but you can't just hide for the rest of your life. Blimey, you had bigger balls when you were twelve. All the bad guys are in Azkaban right now, and they're not going anywhere. Right now the only enemies you have left are in your head."

"Ron-"

"Maybe we can get you some help… maybe someone at St. Mungo's can help you!" Hermione interrupted again.

Harry's smile had disappeared completely by now, and what was left was a trace of confusion, which probably didn't do much to deter Hermione and Ron's objections. Then he felt Ginny shy away from him on the loveseat, and he hadn't even said anything yet. Hermione continued on, though in his frustration Harry zoned out and didn't pay attention to what she was saying. The room was beginning to get far too loud for his liking, and he was considering standing up and making his way for the exit. Before he even realised himself, Harry found himself standing tall, his body overshadowing the others'. They were just as shocked as he was, but not enough to quieten Hermione's lecture.

"Stop! Everyone just be quiet!" Harry's voice boomed through the room, and all sound seemed to dissipate. All that he could hear apart from nervous breathing was the occasional clatter from the kitchen where some wizard or witch, whom Harry didn't care to find out, was chatting to Molly. He looked straight at Hermione, then at Ron, and finally Ginny. They all looked worried that he would storm off angrily, and they would have to wait for him to calm down before they tried all over again. He was sick of the unnecessary nagging and judging looks. Part of him wanted to go back to sort things out, but right now he mostly just wanted everyone to shut up and be happy. They didn't bother him when they were happy.

Harry relaxed a little, careful to use his well-practised 'everything's okay' voice. "Guys," he said more calmly now, "you're a right bunch of mandrakes, crying over nothing. Of course I'm going back."

The whole room suddenly seemed lighter, and he could see everyone visibly relax. They sat there for a moment, gobsmacked. Even Hermione didn't know what to say, and that was quite an achievement in itself.

"Really?" Ginny squeaked, the first thing she had said since entering the room.

"Yeah, really," Harry smiled at her.

With that she jumped up from the chair and wrapped her arms around his neck in an excited embrace.

_Well, now that that's settled, _Harry thought to himself as he watched the other two looking at each other in disbelief. _I guess I can't hide anymore._

* * *

Even though the crazy hectic commotion of the Burrow had not died down and all sorts of people – mostly surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix and Ministry acquaintances – were making visits at most hours of the day, it certainly seemed like things had taken a turn for the better in the past week. Ever since telling his friends that he would return with them to Hogwarts, dinner with the Weasleys had evolved from a sombre experience to the sharing of amusing memories of past experiences in anticipation for the beginning of the school period. The news about Hogwarts reopening must have been made when the Ministry had officially finished investigations there, as things were starting to settle down there. Arthur was now returning home with less of a grimace on his face and even George seemed to be in a brighter mood than usual. He was busy preparing for the back-to-school rush at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and on the eve of Harry's 18th birthday he announced that the preparations for the grand re-opening of the shop were ready to launch the next day.

"George! I'm so proud!" Arthur cheered amongst the applause at the dinner table, and he raised his glass to a toast. "To new beginnings," he called, and everyone raised their glasses in approval.

"I'm also looking into buying out Zonko's at Hogsmeade," George added with pride, "so long as Hogwarts actually is as well fortified as it says it is." He nudged Ron, who was sitting next to him, in the shoulder.

"Oh, isn't that the place you wanted to buy last year?" Ginny piped up.

"Yeah, but it wasn't a very solid investment at the time. From what I've heard, the shop sustained damage sometime in the past 6 months, and it hasn't opened since it was boarded up. Looks like it won't reopen anytime soon either." George gave a devilish smile that would have only been more impressive had his doppelganger been beside him to reciprocate the move. "Oh, and seeing as I'll be so busy in the next few weeks, I've decided to move back into the shop in Diagon Alley."

Molly fluttered her eyes with worry. "Is that really necessary, George?" she pleaded.

"Yeah mum, don't worry. Verity will be there during the day to keep me company, and I have so much bloody paperwork to do that I'd have to bring it all here if I stayed at home any longer." George turned to eye Harry with another fiendish grin. "I doubt Harry would want to be troubled with changing rooms, not after all the fun we've had, but he'd have to. You should see the list of orders I already have piled in the back room of the shop!"

His mother rolled her eyes. "Just be safe, dear."

"Yes mum." George said in a sweetly mocking tone.

Harry was glad that things were finally beginning to feel at least a little bit better, and to see his friends smile so openly. His birthday had been a happy excuse to sit down and forget everything for a while. He knew that some of the smiles were wider than they should have been, and Ron was eager to make as many jokes as he could, but Harry didn't care. As long as they were happy, so was he.

* * *

Once dinner had finished the crowd was escorted outside to see a marquee similar to the one that had been used for Bill and Fleur's wedding, only much smaller as only the residents of the Burrow were being catered for. Still, Harry was impressed at the amount of work that had gone on behind his back; he had absolutely no idea that anything was even going on in the yard, and he swore that an hour before all he could see was the usual garden and a couple of gnomes darting about.

He looked up and saw the roof of the marquee was enchanted to show the night sky like in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Even though they were outside anyway, the effect of the stars twinkling serenely stirred up some nostalgia. Candles floated and gold dust shimmered through the air, illuminating the marquee.

_Yep, _Harry thought, _I'm definitely impressed._

"Harry!" Ginny called for him as she sauntered up to take hold of his arm. "Isn't it wonderful?" She let her smile shine out like a beacon, and it caught hold of his chest for a moment. Even though she hadn't made any effort to dress up, she looked beautiful.

"Yeah," he replied, still admiring the red-haired girl locked by his side.

"I didn't even know! I don't think anyone knew!" her eyes were as wide as Harry's. "If mum had bothered to tell me, I could have put on something better than this." She motioned with her free hand, clearly unhappy that she wasn't given an opportunity to show off, but Harry didn't care. Everyone else was dressed as casually as them, so it didn't matter in the slightest.

"It doesn't matter," he echoed his thoughts to her and held her a little closer to whisper into her ear, "you look beautiful regardless." He saw her grinning from the corner of his eye before his attention was diverted to the loud music that had started playing. It was coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, and filled his head with merriment. Swept up in the moment, Harry ignored the dark thoughts in the back of his mind and smiled. "Let's dance," he motioned towards an empty space in the middle of the marquee, and he led Ginny by the hand.

For the rest of the night Harry felt his troubles leave him completely as he danced and laughed with his second family. He hugged Molly and thanked her for the surprise, to which she had replied that it was "no bother for one of her sons". Even though they had this relationship for some time now, Harry was really struck by the notion. Even though his own real family had either died or abandoned him, there were other people who loved him enough to give their support. A warm feeling filled up inside his chest like a swig of Firewhiskey and the crash of glassware.

_Wait… what?_

Harry turned around at the sound of the noise, unprepared to see his old friend Hagrid standing next to a table that had crumpled over along with several glasses that were on it when he brushed past. He was apologising profusely for being so clumsy, but Molly shook her head knowingly and moved from behind Harry to clean up the mess.

"Don't worry, Hagrid. Hagrid! I'll clean this up… oh look, there's Harry!" Molly ushered Hagrid towards Harry as she repaired the broken tableware.

"Harry, m'boy! Great to see you!" Hagrid beamed as he trundled over, still stepping on the shards on the floor, and gave him a friendly hug. He pulled away and looked over Harry as he usually did.

"You too, Hagrid." Hagrid was one of the very few visitors that he was glad to see and he smiled back. Hagrid hadn't been around the Burrow like every other wizard under the sun, and his presence was a welcome surprise. He looked up at the burly man covered in dark frizzy hair. He seemed to be in good health and spirits, with exception of a slight bump between his right temple and eye. He had made an attempt to dress up, unlike everyone else, so he looked a little out of place in his moleskin suit and red striped tie, but it didn't bother anyone. Harry was just happy to see him.

Hagrid leaned his head a little closer towards Harry's in an amusingly failed attempt at discretion, and the others pretended something much more interesting was going on at the dance floor. "I would have brought yer friend Luna along, but she would've had to diss'lusion herself to sneak out 'f her place and she's still got the trace on her." Hagrid then tapped the side of his coat where he usually kept his pink umbrella, "And I wouldn't want to have her sent to St. Mungo's before school's back, so she stayed put."

"That's okay, I understand. Luna came over last week," Harry laughed, and attempted to conjure chairs for them both as he broke from Hagrid's grasp. Though they were satisfactory and the larger, reinforced chair didn't buckle under Hagrid's weight, Harry knew that he'd have to do better than that if he wanted to get a passing grade in Transfiguration.

_Just listen to yourself, Harrmione, _the voice in his head joked. He never would have thought the day would come when he was anxious about getting good grades, especially not before the school year had even started! He shook his head and sat down to listen to whatever storied Hagrid had to tell, and for the first time since he had last cast _Expelliarmus _Harry found himself keen to listen to a little bit of gossip.

* * *

"Is that really necessary?" Harry joked at Ginny, who had managed to create three small stars that shone and buzzed as they whirled around her head, narrowly missing Harry's.

"But they're so pretty!" she laughed.

It had been two weeks since Harry's birthday, and now it was Ginny's turn to celebrate - only a couple days ago she had turned 17. Partly as an excuse for something new and interesting to do, Molly arranged to gather up Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione and take them shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley, just like when they were all younger. The only difference was there was only one curriculum to follow, and everyone had the same books to buy.

"Ahh," she sighed as she ushered them to walk a little quicker in front of her, "this is the last time I'll be here buying school books, you know."

"Whatever will you do next year mum?" Ron teased his mother as she nudged him sharply in the back.

"Probably go on a holiday, goodness knows I need one."

The party of five bolted down the alley at lightning pace, and it took some time before anyone even realised that '_the great_' Harry Potter had just walked past them. It wasn't long after, though, that more and more people out and about rushed to doorways and windows to steal a glance at the famous wizard. Harry thought he knew what it was like to be idolised by the wizarding community, but it was nothing like the response he was getting now. In previous years he had merely been a boy who had survived out of luck and lots of help, but now he was a hero who had gone into the threshold with the determination to sacrifice himself to save humankind. He was a star for wizards and muggles alike, even though the muggles didn't know his sacrifices. The wizards did though. And now he was starting to feel more and more of what the stare of scores, if not hundreds, of joyful eyes was like. It was unsettling, but he was determined to have a good day out and not let anything stop him. Everything had been better lately, and he was afraid that taking another step in the wrong direction might spoil it all.

Their first stop for the day was Madam Malkin's. Ginny was the only person who had school robes from the previous year, and most were either tattered or too small by now, so everyone was in need of a new set. One such benefit to coming to Diagon Alley two weeks before they were due to set off to Hogwarts was that it was filled with everyday commuters, and there were barely any other students about. This meant that they were able to have a fitting straight away without having to awkwardly wait and be gawked at by passers-by. After about a half an hour, everyone was properly fitted, the price settled - Harry had managed to negotiate a ten percent discount - and they were told to come back in an hour or so for the robes as Madam Malkin had a surprise.

Harry decided it would be best to get the most tedious tasks out of the way first so they could spend some free time over at George's shop. With that in mind, he told his friends he would pay a quick visit to Gringott's to get the Galleons he would need to pay for his expenses. He was surprised to find that there were few people inside the bank, as usually it was quite bustling there in the mornings.

_Maybe I scared some people off with the whole thing about the dragon_, he thought and did his best to suppress a smile. That was certainly one of his more harebrained ideas – something he would never do again, that's for sure.

The trip to the bank took no longer than ten minutes, and Harry returned unscathed to his friends' relief. They were all waiting outside patiently, relieved that he was even allowed at all to enter Gringott's.

"You guys are mental," he reminded them, as they gathered together to head over to Flourish and Blotts.

Amazingly, the party had managed to gather all of the books, potions ingredients, and miscellaneous items needed on their supply list before the hour was up, and Hermione had graciously offered to carry it all in her new satchel she had enchanted with an undetectable extension charm. Harry eyed the bag, which was gold and red with a lion's head in the top right corner – she had bought it from a new gift shop that had opened up in place of one of the destroyed shops – and reminded himself of how truly amazing that charm was and that he needed to remember to have Hermione teach it to him.

* * *

"Harry, don't tell me you forgot about a broom!" Hermione gasped, as they walked out of the apothecary to face Quality Quidditch Supplies. He replied with a smug smile and shrugged; that was exactly what he had done. Harry had lost his Firebolt during the battle over Little Whinging, and the fact that he would need a new one for his return to Quidditch captaincy had somehow gone completely over his head.

He smacked his forehead with his palm at his stupidity and weaved through the crowd to look at the window of the store as he had once done when he eyed the Firebolt that had sat on display in this third year. Now the display was covered in posters advertising a new broom that hadn't even come out of production yet. Intrigued, he stepped into the shop without waiting for his friends to catch up to him and in the middle of the room piled high with boxes of gloves, balls, protective clothing and official merchandise, was a three dimensional colour projection of the concept art for the Mach 1.

The projection shone spectacularly to show a sleek and very straight broom, silver in colour, with the handle only curving upwards ever so slightly to cater for the rider's hands. The foot grips were designed for maximum aerodynamic control (along with the rest of the broom) and looked a little awkward, but Harry noticed that to compensate for this they were positioned lower down on the broom. The tail was so immaculate that he guessed it was likely that the concept art was exaggerating a little now, and that there was no way to ensure a broom could be so straight and precise. Nonetheless, he was compelled to go up to the counter and make an enquiry, but the manager approached him before his friends had even entered the store.

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed the man as he reached out to shake his hand. He was wearing a muggle-style shirt that had a moving white print of a falcon on the chest, showing his support for the Falmouth Falcons, and it looked ridiculously out of place with his black and white wizard hat. "An owl told me that you were returning to Hogwarts this year as the Gryffindor captain! Stupendous!" His words of excitement leapt through the room, making Harry feel a little uneasy.

"Yeah, and I was wondering about this new broom you have here-" Harry began before being interrupted.

"Ah the Mach 1, a fine choice. It's the newest addition to our catalogue of fine brooms, and is set to be released in October. Faster than the Firebolt!" he cried.

Harry let a little frown form on his face, he had wanted to give the broom a test run before deciding on the purchase, and he couldn't do that if he was at school. The manager noticed his frown but mistook it for something else he had said, and tried hurriedly to make up for whatever it was.

"But don't you have a Firebolt yourself, Mr. Potter? I hear that it's the _rider_ and not the broom that makes it what it is."

Harry gave a small nod and replied, "That's the problem though. My broom was lost…" he trailed off for dramatic effect and the other man understood.

"Ah, another casualty of the war, I see," his tone turned more sombre. He was about to begin explaining the features of the new broom to Harry after a long pause as Ron and Ginny stepped into the shop with a jingle of the bell on the door.

"Harry, gosh you're fast," Ron panted, 'I didn't even know where you went until Hermione grabbed my arm- blimey, look at that beauty!" His attention had suddenly turned to the projection in the middle of the store that Harry and the manager were standing around. Harry thought he could see Ron's mouth begin to water a little and laughed to himself.

He let the manager go over the main features of the Mach 1, which were speeds boasting over 200 miles per hour (the absolute limit that the Ministry would allow for any wizard to travel at before the chance of unconsciousness from wind pressure leading to death became too great), unsurpassed manoeuvrability and aerodynamics, and that yes, the artwork was precise and unexaggerated; the broom would be just as perfect as the floating sketch. Needless to say, Harry was impressed. The Quidditch season began in November, and he would have about a month to practise on the broom if he bought it, which he felt was reasonable so long as he wasn't kept inside with detention as he had so many times in his sixth year. He lowered his voice, trying to encourage the manager to do the same so that Ron and Ginny, who were now looking at Chudley Cannons merchandise and a pair of gloves respectively, didn't overhear their exchange.

"How much?" Harry asked quickly and to the point. He held his breath, not knowing what the figure would be. After all, his two previous brooms had been gifts, and he had no clue how much his Firebolt had cost – back then the price was so high that it was only given upon request – but he had heard rumours of it running a price of about four hundred Galleons.

"The introductory price will be one thousand Galleons," he said calmly, "but if my customers were to see you, Mr. Potter, riding this wondrous broom, I am sure that they would be willing to pay the fair price for such a masterpiece. If you were to buy this from me and recommend Quality Quidditch Supplies to your friends, I would be happy to give it to you for half the recommended price."

Harry stepped back a little and awkwardly tried to cover it up as a simple shifting of his weight. Though he had expected the broom to be expensive, he never would have thought that an offer of five hundred Galleons would be _half_ of the asking price.

_Still_, he thought, _it's an upgrade on a Firebolt, and it looks like it'll be a lot of fun._

He told the manager that he would think about his proposition very seriously, and collected the two Weasleys to join him as he exited the shop and meet Molly and Hermione waiting patiently outside.

"Did you decide on a broom, dear?" Molly called as he approached them.

"Not yet," Harry mumbled.

"Well you have some time to worry about that yet." She gave him a warm smile and gathered the group up as they set down the alley once again.

"Are we going to visit George today?" Ron asked loudly as they moved through the bustling crowd.

"Heavens no! I'm not in any mood to be pranked upon by that _boy_ today," Molly replied, half laughing through her seriousness. "Why don't you go next week, when I'm not around?"

As they made their way back to the robe shop Harry's eye caught view of a small dark shop that he instantly recognised as Eeylops Owl Emporium – the place that Hagrid had purchased his late owl Hedwig - and felt the sudden surge of grief that he had been trying to ignore for the past few weeks. He slowed down a little and let himself lag behind the group as his eyes traced the outside of the building. It looked just as it had when he first walked past the windows when he was eleven, and didn't even seem to bear any signs of damage that almost every other shop in the alley had sustained from Death Eater attacks. The fact that it was probably the only building that had managed to remain the same in seven years was probably what had caught Harry's eye in the first place, and now he wished it hadn't. He had an urge to go in there and try to find Hedwig again, but he knew that she wouldn't be there. Hedwig was… gone. This thought brought the beginnings of tears in the corners of his eyes, and he stopped walking altogether to stare up at the sign posted on the archway above the door as his belly flopped inside of him like a floundering fish.

"Harry." Hermione rested her arm gently on his shoulder for comfort after he stood there alone for a short time. She had been the first to realise that he was no longer walking with them and went back some hundred metres to find him, a statue poised in the middle of the cobbled footpath, staring at the emporium. Her gesture didn't seem to stir any reaction, so she whispered to see if he could still hear her. "Do you want to go inside?" Her voice was smooth and soft, like an autumn breeze, and Harry pulled himself back to appreciate it.

"No," he breathed and raised his hand to meet hers on his shoulder. "I think it's best if we keep going."

"Okay." Hermione then led him back to the others, her hand still holding his as she did so, knowing that the small gesture of comfort was necessary to help soothe his painful memories.

"What took you so long?" Ron called as he saw his friends emerge from the crowd of witches and wizards, most of which were pretending to carry out their daily business whilst snatching quick looks at the celebrity so close to them. Hermione clutched his hand as they weaved through the mess of bodies that littered the street to prevent them from being separated.

"Fans," Harry replied quickly, reluctant to divulge what had really happened, as Molly put her arms around him and cooed about how worried she had been.

"Bloody hell, you'd think they'd have the decency to give you a little space." Ron seemed perfectly happy with this excuse and made a point of clearing a wide path for his little convoy, wildly waving his hands with comical authority.

"Ron, what are you _doing_?" Ginny hissed, embarrassed that she had to be associated with such a fool, but he didn't seem to understand that he was looked like the target of a miscast jelly legs jinx. Meanwhile Harry let this display of idiocy take his full attention, pushing back the sadness he had just felt to somewhere out of reach in his consciousness, and laughed heartily as he watched the puzzled faces of people in the crowd who were being ushered sideways by his friend. If anything, it had only caused more people to notice them, but no-one stopped Ron from humiliating himself.

When they finally reached the robe shop, Hermione informed Ron that he was an absolute fool who ended up wasting their time and bringing more attention to the group. Although her face was quite serious as she said this, Harry noticed that she was having trouble trying to stifle a laugh as Ron's face went redder than his trademark Weasley hair. Harry then clasped his hand on Ron's shoulder and told him not to worry, and that he didn't mind the attention. It was true, and Harry had no fears for his own reputation. Besides, it would be Ron put under the scrutiny of gossip, not Harry, and he probably suspected that there would soon be rumours cropping up about Ron's unstable mentality.

Harry led the procession into the robe shop as he admired how his friends were happy to be so natural around him after spending months tip-toeing through the Burrow, when he saw Madam Malkin waiting for them at the front with a smile.

"Perfect timing, Mr. Potter," she beamed, as she shifted around the corner of the room to grab the garments waiting to be collected. She handed out the Weasleys' first, and Molly paid the reduced fee that Harry had bargained for her, clearly grateful for that gesture and the fact that she could buy her children new robes for their final year instead of having to invest in the secondhand robe shop. She then moved on to Hermione, and finally Harry, to whom she then gave a great bow. "Here are your Gryffindor robes, Mr. Potter," she said as she placed them gently on the counter and flicked her wand as brown paper skilfully wrapped them. "I also have something special that I actually prepared for you a few weeks back when I was short on things to keep my mind busy."

Harry gasped as she presented to him a piece of folded cloth that unravelled itself to reveal a spectacular dress robe. It was made of startling red threads, similar to Hermione's satchel, but the material was much finer. It was cool and soft to the touch as Harry let his hands run through it. He then saw the detailing of the robe, which was expertly embroidered in gold in the shapes of a griffin, a phoenix, and a sword, which Harry suspected was supposed to resemble the sword of Godric Gryffindor. A gold trim created a thick border on the front of the robe as a finishing touch.

"I modelled it to resemble Godric Gryffindor's famous robes, but added the detailing myself," Madam Malkin cried with pride. "I even did all the embroidering by hand, no magic at all!"

It was clear that the proprietress had put in many long laborious hours of work into this robe, and it had certainly not gone to waste – Harry wasn't even sure if he had seen work of this quality on any pure-bloods that he had met. Back at the Burrow he had ignored all of the mail piling up outside of the grounds, so he hadn't received any gifts as yet from anyone. This was the first one he had accepted, and it alone felt like too much. Even though he was truly touched by the gesture and dazzled by the beauty of the cloth, he struggled to come up with something short of a "thanks". Regardless of this, Madam Malkin beamed again, clutching her hands close to her chest in excitement that he had accepted it.

"Harry that's beautiful," Molly started as she moved closer to inspect the robe, and the others moved in and formed a circle. "I've not seen anything like this-" she turned her head towards Madam Malkin, "I'll make sure he wears this at every opportunity."

After a couple minutes of admiring the robe and trying it on – it fit better than anything else he had ever worn – Harry realised that she was still standing there, hands clasped, watching.

"How much do I owe you for this?" he asked genuinely, prepared and willing to hand out a couple pockets full of Galleons for the garment.

At this moment the owner's look turned sour. "Are you trying to insult me, Mr. Potter? Surely, you must realise that this is a gift!"

Harry frowned a little himself and tried to reply that he simply felt that he owed her something for it, but he was then ushered out sharply by an enchanted broom that swept at everyone's ankles to gather their belongings and move until they were at the door. They exited in a huff to the sounds of Madam Malkin calling out, "you owe me nothing!"

"Well," said Ron "I think that's enough excitement for me for one day."

They all laughed in a circle as they clutched their parcels of clothing, and agreed that it was probably best to head back home for now, as the crowd had noticed that Harry Potter was standing in the alley once more. They all gathered into a tight group again as Molly headed to the front of the pack and led them to a more secluded spot for them to disapparate together to the Burrow. Now that they had all their loose ends tied together as neatly as possible, it was time for the long and anxious two-week wait before they would meet at King's Cross Station and board the Hogwarts Express.


	4. Running Late, as Always

_Chapter Four__ - Running Late, as Always_

* * *

"Hurry _up_ Ron!"

The Weasley household was bustling and busy as everyone scrambled to gather their trunks. The time was fast approaching ten o'clock and though everyone was ready to set their feet out of the door, but Ron still hadn't even emerged from his room since entering it the previous night.

"Really, if we don't leave soon we'll be late!" complained Arthur Weasley. He was wearing his 'usual' muggle attire, which consisted of a mix of unmatching colours and out-of-season styles. His face flustered red in stark contrast to his blueberry sweater and lime green scarf. It was a mild day and they barely needed jackets, but Mr. Weasley enjoyed his colourful wardrobe and couldn't pass up the chance to 'blend in' as one of the locals. The only problem was that he was rather the opposite – Mr. Weasley stood out like a sore thumb.

"I'll go get him, Mr. Weasley," Harry offered, but was ushered back towards the front door by the giant walking rainbow.

"Please call me Arthur, and no, no. It's okay, Harry. You go get in the car with everyone else."

Harry tried to object, but his arm was already being firmly tugged out of the doorway and through the front garden by Molly, who was muttering to herself about how disappointed she was that this would serve as her last memory of sending her children off to King's Cross Station. "Really, judging by his actions last night, you'd think he'd forgotten what was going on! All that zipping around on his broom like some mad sprite, I'd swear Luna left some nargles lying around on her last visit and they got into his brain! Harry," they kept on towards the Anglia, but she looked at Harry and smiled sweetly. "Make sure that you don't just _give_ him Keeper this year, okay? Let him work a little for it, dear. That boy needs to learn some responsibility, but if that's too difficult he should learn everything the hard way until he does." She stopped and crossed her arms thoughtfully. "Maybe send a few stray bludgers his way," she added, as she opened the car door for Harry.

Harry laughed. Molly was certainly capable of poetic punishments that would always come to bite her children in the behind just when they weren't expecting it. Heck, they probably didn't even know half of the time that they came from her. _That's probably where George got his brains_, he mused. He didn't answer her with anything definitive, but thought for a moment that that would be a good way to get back at Ron if he did anything really embarrassing before Quidditch tryouts came around.

As Molly gestured for Harry to put his trunk in the back of the car, he realised he had left it behind on the doorstep in the commotion. He turned to retrieve it, but Molly put her hand on his shoulder and kept him in place.

"What is it Harry, dear?" she huffed in exasperation. She was trying to convince Ginny, who was leaning on the car, to get in and stop fidgeting.

"Sorry, I left my trunk…" he trailed off and tried to gesture behind him. Molly gave an expert flick of her wand and the trunk came soaring effortlessly towards them. By the time they had everyone's luggage safely stowed away Ron was still nowhere to be seen.

"Ginny, Harry, get in the car and be good. I'll pull that boy screaming from his bed by the ear if I have to." She folded her arms and briskly walked back inside the house.

Harry had no other option than to follow the instructions, and pulled at a door handle on the car. It was stiff, but he eventually managed to open it by leveraging his body weight against it. The door opened with a squeak and he stepped into the back passenger compartment to find that it was still as comfortable as he had remembered despite how desperately battered and bruised the car was on the outside.

"It's not much to look at," Ginny appeared through the door, and she crowded next to him in the back seat. "Dad doesn't use it so much after he got that 50 galleon fine back in first year… well, second year for you. I honestly don't see the whole point of getting into a muggle car and _driving_ into London. It'd be much quicker if we all just apparated. We're all of age now!" She gave an enchanting smile as she brushed a stray strand of red hair behind her ear and looked up at Harry.

"Y-eah," he choked, suddenly noticing how close they were, despite the fact the car could easily sit ten. Ginny had squeezed him into a corner and he could feel the heat coming from her body. He watched as her smile widened to a toothy grin and she leaned a little closer.

"You know why they can't get Ron out of his room, right?" she let her voice drop a little so Harry had to lean in himself to hear properly.

"Probably slept in," he muttered.

"Yes, but he was _sleeping in_ because he spent all night snogging Hermione. Why else do you think she's been at his door all morning trying to scold him out?" Ginny shifted to place her hand on Harry's thigh. "She feels _guilty_ for letting herself have fun last night. I'd never feel guilty for snogging you, no matter where or when."

In a split-second Ginny had managed to close the gap, and they went from being close to one entity as their lips locked. Caught up in the moment, he let his mind carry itself away and enjoyed the long wet kiss. A moment later the wind picked up a large leaf and it hit the window with a loud thud. Harry jumped in the seat so violently the car rocked and Ginny fell into him. Jolted back to reality, he looked down to see Ginny's body pressed up against his awkwardly, and he could feel her warmth against his rapidly beating heart, but he gently eased her away from him.

"What's wrong?" she squeaked, unsure of what she had done.

"Nothing, its just-" he held her more strongly as he felt her hand still on his leg trace circles on his jeans, "its just that this doesn't feel like the right time to be snogging."

"Ron and Hermione snog almost every night after dinner-"

"We are not Ron and Hermione," Harry interjected, sure he looked just as flustered as Molly had a few minutes ago.

Ginny finally took her hand off his thigh and pulled back to sit upright on the seat again, putting some distance between them. "Of course we're not them! But I think its time you accepted that fact that we're allowed to be a couple now, and that means we can be more than just friends. You don't need to feel guilty like they do. It's only natural for us to have these feelings for each other, and even better to act on them."

Harry straightened up and shifted a little against the door to face her more square on and folded his arms across his chest.

"Harry, you're my _boyfriend_. It's okay to be close and kiss and hold hands. They expect that!" Ginny squeaked in exasperation.

"Yes but I don't want to feel uncomfortable when I do it!"

"When is it going to be _more comfortable_ for you, Harry? There are only going to be _more_ people around when we go back to Hogwarts, and heaven forbid you decide to step out in public to hold my hand! I have been really patient and waited for you to get back to normal and everything!" She threw her hands in the air and turned to face the back of the driver's seat. "Besides, you obviously enjoy it, so stop patronising me."

Harry looked down to see the bulge in his jeans and flushed. He opened his mouth to say something hurtful, but closed it before Ginny noticed. Instead he stared icily at the side of her head and wondered why she was so stubborn. They sat in silence for some time until he began again, a little calmer, but with the force behind his words still there as clear as day. "Ginny, you know how hard it's been for me to just go outside and be around people, so I'm sure you can understand why I want to take things with you slow."

"I _know_, but it's still not fair on me. Maybe I don't want to go slow. Maybe I want to have someone to hold me and tell me everything's okay, not the Boy-Who-Hid." The last few words came with a snarl. Harry saw her twitch in discomfort, and had they not been in close quarters he suspected she probably would have brought out her wand. Ginny used magic for _everything_ since she came of age, including ending arguments. Harry was glad that it was too awkward for her to cast a Bat-Bogey Hex at him right now.

"I'm _not _hiding-"

"Yes. You are!" Suddenly she was yelling as loud as she could… she had just snapped. She threw her hands up again despite how cramped the car was and shook her head as she spoke, red hair flying as her head tossed about. "You _are_ scared, and now that you've killed Voldemort you think that the world stops spinning! I was there too, Harry! _I _saw what happened at Hogwarts, and _I saw my brother_ _die_. You're not the only person in England that has to put up with this sort of thing! So now things have calmed down a bit, and when someone tries to get close, when _I _try to get close, you push me away. Maybe what I need right now _is_ a bit of fun and snogging."

"If you had the chance you'd play tonsil hockey all day, every day! I'm _sorry_ I'm not like your other boyfriends, but you're going to have to accept that one of these days. Maybe you should start by not _acting _like nothing happened, and realise that other people grieve differently, _without snogging_." The cabin echoed about them as Harry yelled so loudly Ginny couldn't interject until he let her.

"You're _not _grieving though. You're _sulking_."

"At least my eyes are open to the world."

"_What does that mean?_" Another hiss escaped Ginny's mouth.

"You're oblivious to everything! You might have been a part of the war, but you don't understand a second of what happened… of what _is_ _happening_!"

"I guess that I've been oblivious to this whole relationship too!"

"Yeah, you-" Harry stopped himself from letting more words fall out of his mouth just in time to realise what was happening, but Ginny's body language was loud and clear. She had turned to now face towards the other door, her back to Harry, and her arms and legs were folded so tightly that he thought she might end up stuck in that position. Before he could say anything contrary, she began again, sadness biting at the heels of her bitter words.

"I don't think we-"

"Oh, just get in the car!" Molly cried as the door opened and Ron fell into Ginny. He quickly scrambled over, followed by Hermione and Molly, their faces as red as Ginny's, and the door slammed.

"I can't believe you were able to sleep in like that!" Hermione's voice was filled with frustration as she glared at Ron.

"Sorry, 'Mione. How did you manage to wake up with just a couple hours sleep?" Ron rubbed his eyes sleepily and gave a lion's yawn. It looked like he had been forcefully torn from his bed and marched down the stairs before he could really understand what was going on. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes were red. He wasn't even wearing any shoes.

"_Ron_, lets not discuss this here-," and that was when Hermione noticed the other two. Her eyes moved to Ginny's, which Harry suspected here filling with tears by now, and then to Harry, who was still wedged into the back of the door. He crossed his legs quickly and tried to look as if nothing had happened, but that rarely ever fooled Hermione.

Before anything else could be said except for a few more indiscreet yawns from Ron - who had not noticed anything out of the ordinary yet - the car started noisily and rolled down the bumpy trail leading out of the valley that sheltered the Burrow. Molly and Arthur were busy worrying about how late they were going to be, and their last-minute decision to fly rather than drive caused an unexpected lurch for the occupants of the back cabin. Another jerk later the car was airborne, and Harry suspected they were nothing more than a haze in the sky as the invisibility booster clicked on.

* * *

The back seat was silent for the duration that the car was airborne, but the older Weasleys paid no attention to this as Arthur tried to work the muggle radio system he had recently fixed. After discovering the volume knob, the car was filled with a loud rabble of voices and noises that sounded more like yowling alley cats than music. "They call this music?" Arthur mused, but he left it on, and they endured the so-called 'popular' muggle music.

They set down just a couple blocks away from the train station in an alleyway fifteen minutes before the hour. Once he had ensured they were unseen, Arthur disengaged the cloaking switch and they rolled down the street towards King's Cross. The road was churning with all sorts of vehicles that zipped in every direction the asphalt would let them, and Arthur found himself dazzled by the display of such on-road confidence that he turned down a one-way side street by mistake and was subsequently unable to turn around. After another thirty seconds of bickering Molly finally acknowledged the back seat.

"All right, everyone out!" she called, as she pushed the door open and launched herself out of the car. "Out, out, out! Quickly, or you're walking to Hogwarts!" Of course, she didn't mean that seriously, but at the time anyone could have suggested otherwise.

The four piled out of the car in the middle of the narrow street, and hurried to gather their luggage from the trunk. It took some time as Ginny made a point of staying as far away from Harry as possible while snatching her bag from his hands, and by the time they were walking on the footpath towards King's Cross station there were several cars backed up behind the Anglia. An old man in the black mini directly behind it grimaced and started honking his horn as Molly and Arthur exchanged goodbyes. "I'll meet you there once I turn this thing around," Arthur called, and proceeded to stall the car before eventually getting it moving again down the street and around the corner.

The group ran as they made their way to the station, craning their necks to try to see the building above others to help guide them. Harry caught a glimpse of a clock on a nearby shopfront displaying 10:52am. He called the time out to the others, and this encouraged them to run a little faster; the train left at eleven o'clock on the hour without fail, and if they missed it by even one minute, they would have to find another way to Hogwarts. Sure, there were other ways, but this was the easiest and safest.

* * *

"Owwww," Ron whimpered as he held his hand to his face, checking carefully for blood as he walked up to the platform. In a mad rush of desperation he had mistaken the wrong pillar for the entrance to platform 9¾ and ran face-first into the brick wall. It was certainly amusing, but due to the pressure of time, no one allowed themselves the privilege of letting out a chuckle and instead peeled him off of the floor and into the correct pillar. His nose had now swollen as though he had been hit with a stinging jinx.

Harry looked up as he passed through the entrance to see the Hogwarts Express still waiting for them patiently, but only families of students lingered, some talking to their loved ones through open windows in the carriages. It was as magnificent as he had remembered, but the steam billowing out from overhead seemed to shout "_hurry up_" as he realised that the train began to whistle and had started moving.

They all made one last sprint and jumped through the door to the main carriage just as the wheels were beginning to gain momentum, and Harry, who was last onto the train, waved a farewell to Molly. It had all seemed like the sort of stunt that Harry had seen on old western movies on muggle television, but in reality they could have walked onto the train without any trouble. _I guess the adrenaline does that to you._

He turned around to see the conductor eyeing him and moved to let him shut the door. Then he let it all soak in. He was here, back aboard the train that he was so certain he would never ride again. Harry breathed in deeply as he let memories of his times on the train flood back to him, including when he first met Ron and Hermione, when Neville's Mimbulus Mimbletonia had exploded stinksap in their train compartment, and meeting his late friend Remus Lupin. He also flickered through less happy thoughts, such as when he collapsed when the dementors boarded the train, and the time when Draco Malfoy broke his nose and hid him in the train under his invisibility cloak.

Harry gave a slight shudder at that last thought and found himself reaching up for his nose like Ron was doing. He shrugged the feeling off and caught up to his friends while they tried to find an empty compartment. It wasn't long before Harry stumbled across Neville and Luna, who were in a heated discussion with Hermione and Ginny. Neville looked up and greeted them with a smile, offering them a seat. Ron happily planted himself between his girlfriend and his sister, but when Harry saw the look on Ginny's face he politely declined and mumbled something about the bathroom.

For the first time in seven years of travelling on this train, Harry was unconscious of all the attention he was gathering, and was unable to sit with his friends as he usually had as though it was tradition. He stumbled around the last two carriages of the train and eventually came to find that the very last compartment was empty with the exception of a very timid looking boy.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Harry asked politely, but the boy practically jumped out of his skin.

"Um… o-okay?" he stuttered and moved closer towards the window to make space.

Harry sat down and held out his hand. The boy looked at quizzically. "I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you," Harry said cordially, and he saw the boy's eyes light up as they frantically searched his forehead for the trademark lightning scar. Eventually he reciprocated the gesture and shook Harry's hand.

"M-maverick Cooley. I'm s-supposed to be a second year, but mum kept me home last year… because of… you know." He stumbled over his words, but it seemed like he was a genuinely nervous kind of kid so he let it slide. He wasn't like the drooling girls on the train or cooing reporters around every corner.

"Yeah, I know," Harry smiled warmly. He felt that because he had chosen to sit with this boy he had to take it upon himself to make the trip less of a worry. Harry was nervous himself on his first ride to Hogwarts, but he was fortunate enough to have some people to go through it with him from the very beginning. Besides, it took away the edge of his own anxieties to focus on someone else's.

"I should have gone last year," Maverick repeated himself, "but we were all too s-scared. Now I won't have any friends my own age." He frowned and looked towards the ground.

"You and me both," Harry tried to let out a calm laugh, but it sounded forced. "I should have graduated last year, so I'm older than most of the seventh years."

Maverick kept staring at the floor, which was hardly the response Harry had anticipated. "Yeah, but you're Harry Potter. You can do anything." To that Harry responded with a proper laugh that slipped out without him even thinking.

* * *

They sat together in the last compartment in the last carriage of the train talking. Most of their time was spent confessing and debunking fears of each subject Maverick would be taking. Harry found it easy to come up with a few good points for each class at first-year level, but he knew in the back of his mind that it would not be as easy for him. Before they knew it three hours had passed, and Harry decided he should slip out to put on his robes before the change rooms became too crowded.

He gathered his things and very carefully made sure to avoid the booth with his friends so he wouldn't have to face Ginny's stares, and the short trip was quite uneventful. However, upon his return to the compartment he noticed that Maverick was no longer alone. At first he felt relieved that the boy had met some other people, but that relief turned into worry when he heard an all too familiar voice winding stories of the Hogwarts dungeons.

"Malfoy," Harry glowered as he stepped up to the compartment door. "What are you doing here?" The young blonde man was sitting where Harry was before with his arm outstretched across the back of the seat and his ankles crossed lazily. Pansy was sitting next to him with her hands folded neatly in her lap. He seemed to be enjoying himself, filling the poor boy's mind with the dreadful images that for some reason the Slytherins went gaga for. He slowly let his head turn as he continued to speak with Maverick, only stopping when he met Harry's gaze, as though he was so offended that he couldn't carry on.

"Hello there Potter," he crooned as he stood up from the seat to meet Harry's frown. He had thinned out a little recently, most likely from stress, and his features stood out more than ever. He let his hair grow a few centimetres since Harry last saw him at Hogwarts and it bordered his gaunt face, almost as if he were a photo that needed framing. He stepped forward and picked at the sides of Harry's cloak, "looking very smart today, I must say. Bit of fluff."

"What do you want?" Harry pushed away and tried to act big and tall, but he could not gain any height over the blonde. Malfoy must have had a growth spurt, as he now loomed over Harry by a couple of inches.

"I wanted to talk to you, actually," he looked down coolly, "man to man. Bloody difficult to find you on this wretched train. I was almost worried you'd bail out on school this year, but your little friends assured me you were on this train, and 'lo and behold. Here you are."

Harry rolled his eyes – every gesture Malfoy made was kingly, as if he owned the rights to the air they breathed and everything around – and wondered why exactly he should even be talking to him. But they hadn't come to blows yet, and Harry wanted to spend the rest of his train ride in peace. _If I let him speak, he should leave me alone afterwards, _Harry thought, and he gave a short nod. In response Malfoy spun around.

"Pansy, wouldn't it be nice for you to show… Matt… the sweets trolley. You're so kind like that." Pansy rolled her eyes as she grabbed Maverick's shoulder and pushed him out of the compartment. She closed the door with a click, and Malfoy gave a swift flick of his wand – though Harry was unsure of where he had gotten one – to close the blinds. With another movement he cast an imperturbable charm, and when he was sure that there was no one to eavesdrop, he turned to face Harry, and motioned for them both to sit.

Malfoy sat down comfortably in the corner at one side of the compartment and looked up to see an anxious Harry Potter. "I'm not going to beat you up again Potter, relax," he sneered, "Actually, I'm in need of a favour."

Harry shifted and frowned. "Why would I ever do anything for you?"

"Because you're a Gryffindor, and you're the hero of the wizarding world. Harry Potter, boy hero! Need I go on?" Malfoy made a circular motion with his arms, as if his hands encompassed the world, sarcasm dripping from his words. Harry raised an eyebrow and he took it as an opportunity to continue. "I'm sure you remember our first meeting, all those long years ago, where I so graciously offered you the chance to join the ranks of pureblood society and learn from the son of one of the best respected wizarding families," he gestured to himself, "but you rudely declined. As a result of that day, you and I subsequently became, well, I'd say arch rivals, but I'm not _that_ self-centred, and besides you seemed to have a nemesis fan club and I'm not one to join in on those tacky-"

"_Go on_, Malfoy," Harry faked a yawn, trying to see where this was going, but Malfoy only smiled.

"See? Rude. Anyway, over time you've proven yourself to be quite the 'jack of all trades', and I can't help but feel like your selfishness has caused me to fall behind in my plans."

Harry leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You've got to be kidding me. _Plans_?" he mocked.

"Not at all, Mr. _Potter_," Malfoy smirked. "I've had plans to take over my father's work and lead a life of uninhibited luxury, but that all went down the festering drain when you came along and sent my father to Azkaban for a spell. So here I am on this blasted train back to Hogwarts. Really, I was only a couple months away from finishing everything, and then I get a letter saying I have to _repeat?_ My father was certainly unimpressed."

"You're lucky your _whole family_ didn't end up in Azkaban," Harry said dryly. "I think redoing your last year here is more of a reward than a punishment, and you should think yourself lucky."

"Oh really?" Malfoy sat up from his pose. "From what _I _heard, you almost didn't show up for the train this morning. Remember how _worried_ I was that you wouldn't be here to have this chat with me? Were you having second thoughts, Potter?"

Harry's face flushed slightly as he played back that morning in his head, including his fight with Ginny. "That's different, Malfoy."

"I can't see how. You're just a big hypocrite, resting on your good reputation and getting away with anything you please."

"You're wrong!" Harry shouted without realising, and tried to stifle the volume in his next words, but with little success. "What do you even want?"

Malfoy smiled as Harry squirmed with ire. "I have a feeling I'll be _bored_ this year. I'm looking for something interesting to do, and Pansy and Blaise are so pedestrian now. Yes, I'd like to get some duelling practise in. But not that ridiculous kind with teacher supervision. I feel that after all of this you owe it to me to teach me the finer art of duelling, the way that you fight as if its life and death. At least while I'm stuck in this cesspool."

"I'm not going to teach you anything!" Harry spat with distaste.

"You're repeating your mistakes, Potter. It's quite the unfortunate decision you're making." Malfoy sighed as Harry's anger bounced off of his cool façade. "Here I was thinking that maybe I we were all a bit rash with our decisions to follow the dark lord, but I guess both sides have their faults. "

Harry stopped cold in his tracks. _Did _Malfoy _just admit that he was wrong? It couldn't be_.

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously, though he was certain that he had just misheard.

Malfoy sighed again, but this time it seemed like he was letting his guard down, something that Harry had only seen in moments of desperation. "I'll tell you, but you can't go off _gossiping_ with your Gryffindor friends."

Harry nodded and for the first time sat eager to hear what Malfoy had to say, but before any words were uttered, Malfoy rolled up his sleeve to reveal something that could have been mistaken as an unfortunately shaped scar. Harry knew exactly what it was. On the inside of his left forearm was a dull grey etching of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth – the Dark Mark. Harry inspected it from where he was sitting, and noticed that it was no longer moving and had faded considerably, but not enough to become unrecognisable.

"I never wanted this," Malfoy breathed, "not in a million years. What I would have given to have a normal life like you."

"Yeah right, _normal_." Harry scoffed.

"At least you didn't have to live up to your each and every standard that your family set for you, wrong or right."

"That's because I spent most of my life in a _cupboard_."

Malfoy looked up at Harry with nothing but honesty piercing through his icy grey eyes. "That still sounds better than what I had… _have. _I don't even know who I am anymore."

"_What_?" Harry flashed him an incredulous look and folded his arms, sitting back into the chair.

"Sure, at first it sounded like fun. Attention, power… I even got my own lackeys – Crabbe and Goyle," he trailed off for a moment before picking back up to the story, "The point is that ever since I was… branded… with this… thing, I've been pushed around and threatened by anybody and everybody. Even _you_." He looked back up at Harry, and tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes – something that he rarely showed to anyone. Not even Pansy had seen him tear up unless he wanted her to.

Harry felt himself shift uncomfortably in his seat once again, but Malfoy continued.

"Now that _He's_ gone, I can start again, be who I want to be. I won't let myself get pushed around anymore."

"And what makes me so sure to believe you?" Harry asked, half in disbelief and the fact that he wasn't sure if he could actually trust what he was seeing, despite how raw the emotion was.

"Well… you saved me from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. And then you stunned that Death Eater who nearly killed me."

"How did you know it was me? I was under my invisibility cloak."

"Your Weasel friend punched me in the face." He raised a hand up to the place where he had been hit, obviously trying to make Harry feel sorry for him and angry with Ron, but the reaction he received instead was a proud smile. Harry was pleased that Ron had hit him, the bloody Gryffindors and their pride.

"All well and good, but that just means that I'm a nice guy."

Malfoy was clutching at straws, trying to think of any instance where he had not been a total ass to Harry, but there was only one. "How about when you came to the Manor? I didn't rat you out."

"Yeah, why _didn't _you?" Harry eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

He took in a breath as he chose his words very carefully, this being the first time he had spoken about the incident since it actually happened. "You didn't deserve to have the things they had planned done to you. As much as I hate to admit it, not even that," he paused to stop himself from saying the first word that came to mind, "_Granger_ girl deserved what my aunt Bellatrix did to her. My family is full of bad people – you should know, your Godfather had to deal with them too. I don't want to be like them, not anymore. But they're going to try, so I need to be able to defend myself."

_That was it: Malfoy's last attempt_. Harry made a point of crossing and uncrossing his legs to drawing out the situation. He was thoroughly surprised that Malfoy hadn't stood up and laughed halfway through, that this was all some elaborate practical joke, but he was still there, repentant. He raised his hand to rest his chin on it as he thought, and finally stopped when he realised Malfoy was losing patience.

"I'll help you, but that doesn't mean we're friends," he said curtly. Malfoy didn't seem to care, and he flashed his teeth in a genuine smile, another thing that Harry hadn't personally been exposed to. _Today is a day of firsts_, he thought to himself. "Maybe I can get Hermione to make up something like the coins we used when we were in Dumbledore's Army, so that the other Slytherins don't catch wind of this. Goodness knows what's going to happen if someone finds out I'm associating _voluntarily_ with Draco Malfoy."

Malfoy stood up and began to lift the charm he had set before. "Yeah right, _Potter_, it could only do your reputation some good."

Just as Malfoy was about to exit the compartment, Harry had stood up and began rummaging through the trunk that he had under his seat. "Just a sec, Malfoy," he said with his head buried in the trunk. He emerged a moment later with something familiar to both of them.

"Is that my wand?" Malfoy asked as Harry revealed the stick of hawthorn wood, and it was his turn to be put off-guard.

"Yeah, here." Harry handed it to him. "I used it to kill Voldemort. It's a pretty good wand."

Malfoy held it up to the light, his eyes tracing every groove in the wood, unsure if this was a trick or not. Eventually he decided it wasn't, and he turned to leave again, not feeling the need to thank Harry.

"One more thing," Harry stopped him once more. "You can't use it yet. It has my allegiance, because I won it from you. If you try now it'll just backfire and make you look stupid. If you want to be able to use your wand, you're going to have to win it back."

Malfoy gave a sly smile, back to his usual self. "I look forward to beating you in a duel. I'll knock you down so fast you won't know what hit you."


	5. Loose Lips and Carriage Rides

_Chapter Five - Loose Lips and Carriage Rides_

* * *

"Care to tell me now what that was all about?" Pansy eyed Draco as he stepped back into the Prefect compartment after a long silent walk back to the first train carriage. She had gone along with him willingly to spy on the state of Harry Potter and even taken on the role of nanny for some nervous wreck of a weedy little first year, but Draco was content on being mysterious and didn't lend her the slightest hint. Despite her loyalty to him, Pansy was feeling more and more contempt towards the blonde in recent weeks, but she couldn't quite put her finger on the reason why.

_Its probably just this foul mood you're in_, a voice whispered in her head reasonably. She was, after all, being forced to repeat her last year at Hogwarts. What a total and complete waste of time last year was! Well, maybe not _completely_. She looked up towards Draco and hid a smile as he sat down next to her, and she rested her head gently on his shoulder. He didn't flinch or push her off, but he didn't reciprocate her move either. _He'll come around_.

Pansy let her eyes scan across the compartment in the silence, frowning a little at the fact that none of the other Slytherin Prefects were pureblood, and she had a suspicious inkling that the fifth year girl with curly blonde hair might even be a mudblood. What an achievement it must have been for her to open her letter and find a Prefect's badge enclosed. She would finally be accepted as a Slytherin worth knowing, and her horrible secret wouldn't matter so much. _Yeah right. _The only way she would be able to straighten out would be to marry into a good family, but who would ever want to take that hit for the team? _Thank goodness McGonagall came to her senses and let us be Prefects again, and Draco Head Boy too._ _That crazy old bat has less knowledge of this sacred house than my shoe, it's a wonder mummy managed to get her to come around._

Pansy glanced up again at Draco in silent admiration - he was smirking to himself - knowing that his father had been the first to send some angry letters once the school closed down and the N.E.W.T.s were cancelled. Even after all of this, Mr. Malfoy knew exactly what had to be done, and in the long run it would probably be the one thing that would preserve their status as elites among the Slytherins. Heaven forbid what cruel things would be gossiped between the loose lips of pureblood heiresses at the next dinner party she might attend if they had heard that Pansy Parkinson didn't finish school and couldn't get a _real_ job. Even worse, what if she hadn't been allowed her place as a Prefect? The follies of the wizarding elite were so foolish, yet they still troubled Pansy. Seventeen years of putting up with mummy and father's parties was enough to drive her mad.

Realising she had become lost in thought, Pansy pulled herself back to reality and addressed the more pertinent matter: she didn't really know who any of the other people in the carriage were. She had been sitting mostly in silence, occasionally talking to Draco, since the train had pulled off from King's Cross, and not a single person had offered her a greeting. She was sure they were all too terrified of bothering her, or else entrapped by their own fickle egos to notice who she was, but it was still odd.

_Who cares? _The voice whispered again, _you already have the only person you need._

"Draco?" Pansy stirred again after what could have been anything between five and fifteen minutes of silence, with only the buzz of quiet chatter audible from the other side of the cart between three Hufflepuffs.

"Hmm?" Draco let his head sway towards hers and met her gaze, apparently unaware of his surroundings.

"Why were we harassing Harry Potter just now?" her voice stayed calm, but she felt herself beginning to become agitated at Draco ignoring her initial question. The moment she realised her emotions she regretted them as she watched Draco turn attention to what was in his hands. Pansy gasped quite audibly to the surprise of the other occupants of the compartment, and lifted her head forcibly back in a motion that could have caused whiplash. "Is… that?" she let out with a squeak.

"If you look closely next time you pass him, though he might cover it up, I planted a nice big bruise right on the side of Potter's face." Draco grinned, and let it slowly widen, as Pansy continued to stare in disbelief. In his hand was a wand made of dark wood. A wand that could only be his.

"I can't believe he still had it!" she exclaimed, and now the whole compartment had turned from quiet chatter to turned heads and inquisitive looks.

Pansy tilted her head to meet Draco's icy grey eyes and in a moment of weakness she threw her arms around his neck in a warm embrace. It was, for lack of better words at the time, magical, and she pressed her body against his and let her arms wrap around him tightly. That was until Draco gripped her arms with his free hand and pushed her sideways off of him. He looked fierce, and not a speck of colour had breached his porcelain face. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?"

"I just wanted to show you how happy I am," she mumbled, in shock from Draco's reaction.

"Next time, try to remember to be more _dignified_," Draco sneered.

Pansy let her mouth hang open for a few seconds, her mind wildly trying to contemplate what exactly to do next. Of course, she knew that it was unbecoming of a witch of her status to show public displays of affection, but that didn't seem to be any problem just a moment before when she rested her head against him. And what about the other times, like when Draco rested his head in her lap, letting her stroke his wispy locks, or every time she fawned over him after suffering so much as a paper cut? Had she gone too far? Or perhaps, but obviously _not _the correct option, was that he was cross with her. That must have been it, because Pansy knew without a doubt that Draco Malfoy was her soulmate. She was the only girl in the whole school who he _didn't _insult at every opportunity, and they went to the Yule Ball together at his request in their fourth year. She fumbled over her apology for the rash display, but she failed to form any coherence.

"Close your mouth, you're making a spectacle of yourself," Draco warned her dryly, as she turned to notice that the chatter of the small crowd in the compartment was picking up, giggling at her expense. She forced her jaw shut and sat back firmly in her seat, aware that her cheeks were growing hot and probably turning a violent shade of pink. How could she have forgotten that she was in a tiny 'room' full of Ravenclaws, Gryffindors,_ Hufflepuffs_, and even fellow Slytherins, she did not know. It was mortifying, and she certainly hoped that the heiresses wouldn't find out about this. She'd be a laughing stock.

The rest of the trip was more than awkwardly silent; at least it was between her and Draco. She kept running through the scene in her mind, desperately trying to detect what move had betrayed her. Perhaps this would have turned out better had she not thrown herself all over him in front of complete strangers? Or maybe she jumped too soon, and Draco wanted more time to revel in the accomplishment of seizing his wand back from that traitorous Harry Potter. Had she hugged him too tightly? Did she crease his uniform? She needed to find some way to redeem herself for that stunt; she suspected she might be shunned for a great deal of time for embarrassing him, and she didn't want that to happen at all.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione jogged a little to catch up with the tall dark-haired figure lumbering slowly towards a carriage with two thestrals at the reins. She felt a sudden lurch in her stomach and looked twice as she realised that she could actually see the dark and bony winged animals, but did her best to not let it bother her. Harry didn't seem to hear her, and even jumped a little as she put her hand on his shoulder once she had cleared the distance between them.

"You scared me half to death, Hermione!" he gasped.

"Harry we need to talk." Her voice dropped very low and her eyes glinted in the darkness. As if Harry even had to guess. Instead of fighting about it, Harry waved his hand towards the carriage, took the trunk floating idly beside Hermione, and tossed it in. Then she climbed into the cart.

Once they were moving, Hermione put her hands in her lap and looked at Harry very much like she had just over a month ago, when she was trying to convince him to do what she had expected he would not. Heck, he'd surprised her then, maybe he'll do it again now.

"These thestrals are not what I was expecting." Something middle of the road to break the ice. Harry didn't respond. "I mean," Hermione continued, "I've seen pictures of them in books, but I could never have imagined them to be so… haunting." Harry grunted half-heartedly.

"You get used to it. Just look out some other side of the carriage and pretend you can't see them if it bothers you that much."

"Ginny's upset," Hermione blurted out suddenly, unable to keep it in any longer. She eyed Harry as he fidgeted uncomfortably in front of her.

"Yeah, I thought as much," he sighed matter-of-factly, but without remorse. It surprised Hermione that he was showing such little care towards how his girlfriend was feeling. She would have nearly _murdered _Ron if she ever heard him talk like that about her.

They sat silently for a while as the carriage rolled over the stony path and they rocked about gently. It did help to look out the side and ignore the thestrals.

It wasn't long before Hermione found herself picking up the conversation again. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I'm sure she's already told you all there is to know."

"So that's it?" Hermione could feel herself fuming with exasperation.

"With the way she's acting, I would be a fool to think otherwise." His gaze intensified, but Hermione thought she could pick out a few sparks of regret behind it. _He's trying to be strong about this. _The thought comforted her; he wasn't void of all emotion, and at least that was a start. He was still pretty new to relationships, and probably didn't know the best course of action to take after a fight. If she told Ginny that he was trying to put on a brave face for her sake, so that she could be happy and make the next move, Hermione was sure Ginny would talk to him again. She knew that Ginny was miserable without Harry, she always was, and they belonged together like she belonged with Ron.

Hermione suddenly felt a cold prickling at the back of her neck; Mrs. Weasley would have called it 'a woman's intuition'. She guessed that Harry could sense what she was up to before even she knew all of the details. She gave a sly smile, but it didn't stop what he said next.

"I know you mean well, but I think that maybe you should stay out of it this time. You know, let us settle things ourselves." He still had the fierce look in his eyes, but Harry's voice was milder, coaxing. He really was trying.

"I just want you two to be happy, Harry," she pleaded. "You haven't had a fight before, but it'll be okay. You make up and then everything gets better." Harry shook his head.

"I think what's best is for us to spend some time apart." The cart rolled over a large rock and tossed the occupants about. It took a moment for Harry to settle before proceeding. "I know that we'll be in practically all the same classes now that we're in the same year, and we'll see each other a lot being in the same house, but it's still a little better than being cooped up in the Burrow for months together, sitting so close together at that cramped table." His eyes searched for an empty space on the floor of the cart before looking back at Hermione when she opened her mouth.

"Harry-" Hermione began.

"I need some _space_, Hermione."

She left the discussion there for now, and looked back out of the cart and towards the scenery as the forest rolled past them. Autumn leaves were scattered about in hues of reds and yellows, and some floated silently on the wind as if by magic. The sun was beginning to set and the sky above the treetops was glowing a majestic blue as it transitioned between day and night, as though a few of the sun's rays left behind were trying their best to illuminate the evening sky. Still, no matter how hard she tried Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness for two of her closest friends fighting, especially when the previous day had some of the highest spirits she could remember.

After some time she could make out the silhouette of Hogwarts Castle, and she watched the glowing lights that surrounded it against the now black sky. From where she was sitting it seemed like nothing had ever happened, and despite all workable evidence she felt as though the past year hadn't even happened. She was returning for her seventh consecutive year and Voldemort and his Death Eaters were in hiding, somewhere far away and not planning to ever emerge. She breathed in the sweet misty air. It was nice pretending that she lived a normal life, even though nothing should have ever come across as such. But what was normal, and what was absurd? It was difficult to balance the two. _I guess I'll never know the true sense of the word_, she sighed to herself.

"How do you do it?" Harry murmured after a long silence.

"Do what?"

"Stay so positive?"

Hermione shifted in her seat and tucked a loose length of hair behind her ear. "What do you mean, how do I stay so positive?"

"I mean, look at us." Harry gestured to the forest around them. The darkness had closed in on them, and only the light of a lone lamp atop each carriage in front of them in their long procession gave any sense of direction. "We're back here. Back _here_. I never would have dreamed of setting foot on the school grounds, let alone in the castle, but that's what we're going to do."

"Harry," Hermione put a soft hand on his forearm reassuringly, but he only shook it off.

"No! I just… I just don't see how you can be so calm after all of this. I can't be the only one who has nightmares."

Harry folded his arms and looked down at them, his body a ball of apprehension. Hermione thought before that they'd be a little nervous about coming back to Hogwarts, but she didn't realise the impact it really had. She had to be strong for her friends, but maybe that strength was misplaced.

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't realise that you were going to be so upset with coming here. Really, I wouldn't have been so insistent had I known. I thought that you would remember all of your fond memories here and that would be enough encouragement."

"_Fond memories_? Hermione, most of my memories are of death and pain. And _most_ of those memories are _here_." Harry grimaced as he spoke, his words muffled by his tight grip on his own folded arms.

"We need to finish our education or we can't have a future."

"Maybe I don't want a future. Maybe I just want to go back home and sleep."

"Harry, this is your home!"

Hermione didn't know what to do. Everything had seemed to be going so well until just now. Maybe the fight with Ginny was more to do with Harry being afraid of returning to Hogwarts, or being afraid of starting out fresh, now that Voldemort had gone. Either way he was afraid… but he wasn't the only one.

Harry looked up and smiled sarcastically. "I don't know where my home is anymore. You know, I don't think I ever had one to begin with."

Silence engulfed the pair once more as the carriage creaked and click-clacked over the dirt road. They watched the stars come out one-by-one as they twinkled a spectrum of different colours above the castle's protection enchantments. A nearby tree rustled and Hermione thought she saw something move through it. She shuddered, suddenly feeling the cold, and pulled her robe more tightly over her. Harry had become completely quiet, and the weight of the surrounding forest started bearing down on her. She took a quick breath in, then out, and in again. Before she knew it, she realised her hands were shaking as they clutched at her robe. But it wasn't the cold…

Her mind hurried as she focused on her breathing, thinking of her family in Australia. They were probably having a pleasant time in the sun, living ordinary lives without fear of any magical repercussions. She remembered how her father smiled, and how it shone as he beamed at her. Her mother was kind and happy, and was always proud of her. She missed her parents dearly, but at least they were safe. Hermione knew that she would come back for them once she had finished her studies; she would find them a new home in England where they could live in a respectable muggle community, close enough so that she could visit them every week. She'd show them about magic, and teach them to feel safe with it around. Just thinking about it made her feel safer… calmer.

"I sleep with a night light," she breathed eventually, once her heart rate had calmed down and her hands stopped shaking. Apparently Harry hadn't even noticed.

"You what?"

"Well, a charm. Fire-in-a-bottle, remember? It helps me sleep." She smiled weakly and Harry frowned.

"So I'm _not_ the only one with nightmares then?"

Hermione sighed. "Of course not, Harry. Everyone gets them in their own ways."

"Everyone?"

"_Everyone._"

"But I thought-"

"You _thought_ that just because no one else mopes around the house all day, that we're all fine?"

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it abruptly. He then opened it again. "You all seemed over it."

"_Harry,_ I was tortured by some she-devil of a witch who, thank my lucky stars, is now dead. Though she deserved a taste of her own medicine, if you ask me." Hermione rolled up her sleeve, and a crude carving of the word 'Mudblood' was barely visible in the dim light. To make her point stand out, she lit her wand and held it up to the scars.

Harry stared and blinked. "I didn't know…"

"Yes well, luckily it was cool enough weather that I could still wear long sleeves. But I doubt you noticed that either." Her voice was sharp, and she knew all too well that he was too caught up in his own emotions to notice anyone else's. No wonder Ginny was upset with him.

"No… I didn't." Harry looked down at his own scars, faintly etched across the back of his hand. He rubbed them and frowned again. "So how do you do it?"

"I have to do it, so I do." Hermione unrolled her sleeve, pulled her robe tightly around herself once more, and folded her arms. "But it seems you don't. So why are you here?"

"I thought I had to, too."

"Well you don't. You can leave if it's that bad for you."

Harry scratched his head and looked out towards the ever-growing silhouette of the castle. "I guess I'm here now. I haven't backed down from anything yet."

"No, you haven't. That's a good answer Harry. Just remember we haven't backed down either. None of us. We're all here, and we're all trying to be strong. The only difference is that this time we're not being strong for you, we're being strong for ourselves."

"Well, it looks like this time I've only got myself to rely on."

Hermione shifted to sit close to Harry and placed a hand over his own. "That's how it is in the real world."

"It's scary, isn't it? Growing up."

Hermione smirked. "Terrifying… but we've dealt with worse before."

"Hermione," Harry broke the silence and she jumped. "I have something I need your help with."

The carriage had stopped at the castle and they were unloading their things. The silence gave them time to mull over their past at Hogwarts, Harry decided that he would have to face whatever demons presented themselves to him, no matter what form they came in. It was going to be difficult, but he would get through it with the help of his friends. There was just one more thing he needed to sort out before stepping into the castle.

"What do you need?" Hermione asked instinctively, forgetting that she was still upset with him.

"Do you remember the fake Galleons we used back in the days of the DA?"

"Harry, I don't think it's wise to start that back up again," Hermione reasoned.

"I don't plan to," he stated, as Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I mean it." He shook his head a little before continuing. "I just need _one_."

"And what exactly are you planning to do with it?" she quizzed, eyebrow still firmly set in its sceptical place. Harry jerked his head and stared down at his feet.

"I don't know… I lost mine," he lied. "It reminds me of better times."

"Do you have a Galleon right now?" Hermione caved in.

Harry's face lit up, as he rummaged through his robes, finally pulling out a large gold coin from his trouser pocket. Hermione took hold of her wand and leaned forward over it.

"_Geminio_." With a flick of her wand, the Galleon split in two, and then another emerged from the original. "You can put back the real one now," she said, noticing the look on Harry's face as she had made two instead of just the one he had asked for. "One for you, and one for me. If you need to tell me anything you don't want the others to know, just put it on the coin and I'll know. _Proteus._" Another flick, and both coins were consumed with a warming sensation that disappeared just as quickly as it came. Hermione then plucked one from his hand and put it in her pocket, tapping her side to show him it was there.

"Thanks Hermione, you're brilliant," Harry said as he leaned over and gave her a quick hug. _Too brilliant, _he thought to himself as he drew back and saw her sweet, innocent smile. _Now I can't use this thing without her knowing what I'm up to. _He hadn't counted on Hermione being suspicious, but that it was probably silly for him to overlook the fact. He would have to think of something else to use, something that wouldn't be drawn to her attention, but Hermione would always be suspicious. Harry hated when he had to think through a difficult situation, it made his head hurt. He instinctively put his hand up to his lightning bolt scar, but it produced no pain. He was merely experiencing a tension headache.


	6. Rosewood

_Chapter Six - Rosewood_

* * *

The start of the evening was rather uneventful and quite the same as the beginning of most years. Harry sat at the end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall avoiding any Weasley that might try to confront him, but that was a much simpler task than it used to be as there were only two of them to worry about. Still, if he wasn't careful two might turn out to be two too many. Ron had said he'd kill harry if he ever hurt Ginny, but it was her fault anyway. Not like Ron would ever listen to reason.

Bright young faces were beaming up at Harry from the table, and he also noticed students from other tables sneak peeks at him every now and then, turning back quickly and whispering with their friends. _Yep, looks like I'm a celebrity this year too, _he thought, though by now he had gotten used to it. In his mood, Harry simply didn't care.

The procession followed with a greeting from Professor McGonagall, who looked out of place in the throne-like chair that sat in the middle of the teacher's table in the hall. It wasn't the change of place so much that was off-putting for Harry; Harry was just so used to seeing the friendly face of Albus Dumbledore. But he would still choose McGonagall over Umbridge or anyone else any day, so he figured he'd just have to get used to it.

Her spiel was longer than what he was used to sitting through, but it was fair enough considering just how much had happened in the past few months. Among other things in her speech, McGonagall listed the new school rules, not surprising him that they now contained a few new ones. One in particular caught his ear: _Students are not permitted to engage in duelling behaviour unless previously authorised and supervised by a member of the teaching staff, with penalty of detention_. It looked like he was going to spend another year as a rule-breaker, adding to his list of makeshift titles for himself, along with '_celebrity'_. If such a thing existed, Harry would have been entered into a Hogwarts Hall-of-Fame many times for many different causes.

Harry wondered what it was like to be able to follow the rules for once and be ignored by the average onlooker, but he couldn't conjure the thought in his head. The natural view of the world that he lived in had been ingrained into his mind so fiercely over the past few years that there was no way to know how else he could have turned out, but it didn't really matter. Besides, Harry secretly revelled (only a little) in the fact that he did what he pleased and mostly got away with it. It made him feel a little less restricted in a world where he was constantly being pressured and tabloids made up stories as fake as Ginny's laugh echoing down the table at that moment. It made him feel free… well, as free as he could be, locked away in a boarding school with more rules than Privet Drive. At least these were fair ones.

Harry looked up from his daydreams, and McGonagall was now introducing the teaching staff. The same familiar faces peered over the stage, though some seemed a little more worn out than when he had last seen them over a year ago. Professors Sprout and Flitwick smiled admirably to the crowd of students, though it was obvious (even from as far back from the room as Harry was sitting) that they hadn't had much sleep recently. He wouldn't have been surprised to see the two professors fall asleep through the feast, but they managed to stay awake from what Harry could tell.

McGonagall mentioned the complete renewal of charms and spells in effect on the school grounds, and while some old ones remained, the majority of charms were newly created from the past few months. One of which, invented by Professor Flitwick himself, caused glittering streaks of red and yellow across the sky when the sun was in the right position, a combination repulsion-detection charm so powerful it could even keep dementors away whilst keeping note of all corporeal inhabitants. Apparently he had called it the "Godric" charm. Another created physical barriers at all known passageways leading into the school and, although it was never mentioned, Harry suspected it was with some help of the Marauder's map. McGonagall continued listing off spells and their function for what seemed like forever, and the longer she spoke, the more boxed in Harry felt. As it currently stood, the Hogwarts was likely the most closely guarded institution in the northern hemisphere. It was almost like its own country, limiting power from all other authorities and essentially ruling itself. Had that been the case Harry would have asked for full citizenship… Harry Potter of Hogwarts. What would that make him? Hogwartsish? Hogwartian? Either way, it was all hogwash.

Harry could still smile a little though, thinking of the uproar that all of these changes must have caused for the Ministry of Magic and the news extravaganza for the _Daily Prophet_. He was glad that he hadn't picked up a newspaper in a long time and discouraged conversation of outside events. Better to be uneducated about the world than fenced in by it. He didn't really know all that much outside of personal experience anyway, and the wizarding world was one big amusement park. Sure he felt smug now, but had Hermione been given the chance to speak of current affairs to him, he likely would have gone looking for a nice little cupboard under some stairs to lock himself in.

Harry craned his head over the scruffs of hair obscuring his view of the other teachers (except Hagrid, who stood out like pants on a house elf). He noticed how Slughorn had stayed on, most likely still teaching Potions, and Harry wondered how harshly McGonagall had threatened him to keep him here. _Maybe he's here again because I am, _he thought reasonably. _I wonder if he'll try to collect me again._ Professor Slughorn tried to hide himself from the staring eyes of students as best as he could, but all he could find was a moderately sized candelabra to obscure half of his face. The sight of Slughorn trying to distort his round body to best conceal everyone's gaze from him actually caused more attention to him, rather than less.

Of the new faces, Harry couldn't identify any of whom he had previously encountered on one of his adventures or from the ministry, though one person in particular caught his eye. She had wild red locks the colour of blood, and while they looked so much more unnatural than the Weasleys' token orange, it somehow didn't seem overdone. Perhaps it was her pale complexion and plain face that did it, not standing out too much at all. Instead, it made her look interesting. The witch was far younger than the other teachers, and he suspected that she could only be a few years older than him. Of everything, it was the way she dressed that made her stand out amongst the crowd. It was something not too unlike the dressing habits of Arthur Weasley, but less of an assault of the senses and a little more organised. She was probably at least part muggle, rebelling against wizarding styles and traditions.

Professor McGonagall introduced the woman as Evelyn Rosewood, a young prodigy who had moved to Scotland from Australia in an attempt to branch out and educate herself in the world. She fell into the teaching pool and took to it like a fish in water. She gave a coy wave to the crowd as she stood up, revealing more of her crazy attire. Unlike everyone else who wore a proper wizard's hat, she found it appropriate to don a cap that was made from what Harry suspected was the top of a head of a black bear, its ears enchanted to wiggle about as if she had control of them. She wore black fingerless gloves, even though the temperature inside didn't warrant warm clothing, and her robes were a rich purple. They stopped at her knees, revealing striped socks of a different shade of purple that snaked up her legs and hid all of her skin. Each house table audibly had different opinions of her. The Ravenclaws were praising her prodigious academics, the Hufflepuffs echoed on about her good efforts at her age, the Gryffindors pointed at her bear ears, and the Slytherins laughed outright. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs started the applause, and the other two houses reluctantly followed suit.

"Professor Rosewood will be your _newest Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Let's hope she can handle more than one year. She is very skilled and we are proud to have her here at Hogwarts," McGonagall announced._

An audible gasp came from the mouths of just about every student in the room.

"I thought she'd be teaching Muggle Studies or somethin'," a young witch near Harry buzzed to her friends.

"No way she knows how to handle strong magic!" said another student. "She'll probably have us using our booksmarts this year."

The group groaned loudly.

"Awh! I wanted to fight a Boggart this year!"

"Fat chance."

Similar conversations were whispered between groups on other tables too, but Harry ignored it and looked back up to the stage. He was impressed at McGonagall's praise for this witch, so she must have proven herself. It wasn't like McGonagall would let some Ministry official push her out of the way again and enforce their archaic notions of teaching on the students. Eventually the whispers died down, and everyone realised that McGonagall was waiting patiently to speak again.

"For the Gryffindors, the time has come for me to step down as your Head of House." She gave a sad smile, clearly regretting what she had to. "But that gives you no reason to act poorly this year, as Professor Rosewood will be stepping in and taking you under her proverbial wing. As if Defence Against the Dark Arts was hard enough, she volunteered for this position and I believe it will be a suitable challenge for her and you all. Don't let me hear that you have been _acting up_."

Harry was a little shocked, to say the least. Although it was reasonable when he thought about it, he hadn't expected the change of positions. He was so used to McGonagall being there whenever he needed her. It wasn't like that would change, her being headmistress and all, but it wasn't the same. Everything was going to be different. Nonetheless, he hoped that he would get along with Rosewood. She seemed eccentric, but not that bad. After all, he had _Loony_ Lovegood as a friend.

* * *

"Alright everyone, settle down please!" Rosewood raised her arms above everyone and called over the noisy chatter in the Gryffindor common room. The feast had ended and everyone moved to their respective house dormitories without a fuss, the Prefects students leading the first years as usual. Harry grimaced when he saw that Ginny was a seventh year Prefect – she hadn't even mentioned it to him – but felt proud when he saw that Neville filled the other position of prefecture. Apparently Neville was also a Prefect in the year prior, and Harry had no objections to his continued service. He remembered the days back when Neville started, out timid and shy, but as his time at Hogwarts pressed on he began to show more and more of the characteristic Gryffindor valour that was initially hidden beneath his surface. It made him a fitting candidate, and Neville was a nice person to boot. Also, at the very least, Neville could be a guide for Ginny's temper that Harry knew only too well. If left to her own vices, she would probably have given Harry detention that evening for dragging his heels as he walked. Harry hoped that Ginny would be allocated a lot of meaningless tasks to keep herself busy, and leave him out of it.

Harry frowned again. Just why exactly was he thinking of all of these horrible things about the girl that he loved? At least, he thought he loved her. There was no doubt in his mind that he _wanted to_, but right at that moment he couldn't shake this feeling that he had pulled himself out of a pool of icy water; he had been submerged for so long that he couldn't remember what it felt like to _not_ be pining over someone or something. Perhaps he was experiencing some new emotion over that last point, but it didn't explain why he was feeling so malicious towards Ginny. _Perhaps this is what normal people feel like when they get into an argument, _he mused. _They calm down and make up… they don't have to set down a lifelong vendetta against an arch-nemesis._ It was funny how messed up Harry's childhood was, and now he had the chance to be normal, he rejected it.

The noise died down as Professor Rosewood spoke, her accent similar to their own, but different in a way that he couldn't quite tell. It didn't sound northern, nor southern, nor like anything he was used it. It had another layer of inflection upon it, and some of her pronunciations were a bit off. Her voice seemed to provoke the same interest for the other students, as the moment she spoke she was able to capture their attention and everyone turned to face her.

"I'm sure you all know by now who I am, but for those who were too busy staring at the Bloody Baron when Professor McGonagall was speaking," she shot a glance at two first years who looked as though they had swallowed a bogie flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean, "my name is Professor Rosewood." She paused for dramatic effect before continuing, "I know it must be difficult for everyone used to being under the watchful eye of Professor McGonagall, and I assure you that she is still there for anyone who needs her. However, the times that she will be available are limited because of her advancement to the position of Headmistress, so she called on me to help out. This might come as a shock to all of you, and I'm pretty sure she didn't want me telling you guys this," her tone suddenly became much more friendly and informal, more like a peer than any conventional teacher at Hogwarts Harry had ever known, "but Professor McGonagall is my aunt."

Though the room was already quiet, a new stratum of silence pressed down on the room as nervous faces let themselves twist in disbelief. A third year even dropped the book in his arms with a loud crash. Rosewood clapped her hands together and let out a genuine laugh of amusement.

"I know, right? But don't tell anyone, I don't want people accusing me of getting any special treatment because the Headmistress is my mother's eldest sister. I _did_ get straight Os on my N.E.W.T.s back when I was doing my last year at school in Australia." She placed both hands on her hips indignantly. "The only reason why I didn't get a job straight away was because it _bored the_ _life_ out of me. Really, I don't know how you guys do it! But then push came to shove and I'd already managed to do a lot of globetrotting within a couple of years of graduating, so I started volunteering at a duelling club in Quebec. I got really into the sport, and started taking up duelling professionally. I won the big gold trophy at the National Duelling Championships back at home in Australia, and auntie Min-, I mean Headmistress McGonagall, suggested I should have a go at professional instructing. I entered the teaching space here in merry old England two years ago, and was placed next in line for a position at Hogwarts. Then I got pushed back to the end of the line for those bloody Carrow siblings… but I'm here now!"

Harry felt a whole lot better about his first impression of Rosewood, and if she had an ounce of the passion for teaching that McGonagall did, she would be alright in his books. The rest of the Gryffindors seemed bemused at her life experiences and stood in perfect silence as she spoke. When she finished, they let out a whoop and applauded for the end of the Carrow regime. When the ruckus calmed down, Professor Rosewood continued with the usual '_Welcome (and welcome back) to Gryffindor_' speech. She quoted the house rules from memory and then read out who was bunking in which dorm. Harry was pleased to know that the other guys – Dean and Seamus – decided to stick around this year. She then announced the Prefects and their duties, followed by the Quidditch team Captain.

"From what I've heard, Harry's one hell of a seeker," she beamed, already on a first name basis with him, another difference between her and her aunt, "and with the reputation I've been reading about, there's no doubt that we'll win the tournament this year." Rosewood pumped her fist into the air with cheer, and the rest of the house followed the motion.

"I know I've been talking long enough, so lets all go get a good night's rest, and we'll sort out the details of classes tomorrow morning!" With that she stepped down from the spotlight (it truly seemed like there was one shining down on her) and made her way to her room in the far corner and down a little passageway.

"She's mental," came a voice from behind Harry's shoulder, and he knew instantly that it was Ron. "I like her."

Harry turned to see him give a cheesy smile, but it was cut short by a brisk jab in the ribs courtesy of Hermione. Ron let out a gasp as he doubled over, and then had to catch his breath before he could stand upright again. It was obvious that he had over exaggerated his grief, but Hermione wasn't fazed.

"Where were you Harry?" he asked once he was sure that Hermione looked at least a little upset at what she had done. "I didn't see you in the train, or in the Hall, or anywhere! Did you get into another fight on the train with Malfoy?"

"I was there," Harry replied bluntly, expecting an onslaught of questions about his relationship with Ginny, though they never came.

"It's not the same without you, mate. I'm glad you came and all, but you can't just disappear or it's the same as if you never came." Ron's response tugged at Harry's heartstrings. After a sever-year-long friendship with Ron, Harry still expected the worst from him – he was so sure Ron would be angry, but he just wasn't that sort of guy. Either that or he _still _didn't know, which _was_ possible, so Harry didn't push the matter any further and instead gave a quiet apology to which he was told not to worry.

The trio stood in the middle of the common room amongst the mass of bodies discussing previous and upcoming events, half with excitement and the other half in fear. The mood was certainly different to what it was when Voldemort had first been properly announced to have returned, but it was still all too similar for Harry to ignore the feeling. He was contemplating this when he felt a tug at his robe, looking down to see a first year, this one with sandy brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked a little frightened.

"'Scuse me, Mr Potter?" she peeped. Harry gave a nod. She then lifted her hand towards his, which held a piece of tightly folded parchment. He took it and she ran away before he could thank her.

"What was that about?" Ron asked as he eyed the paper.

"No clue," replied Harry.

"Could it be your first love letter of the year?"

Judging by the look of fear on the girl's face, Harry figured it was probably best that he read the note alone. He hastily shoved it into his pocket after pretending to inspect it and find nothing, and said something about being tired. Ron shrugged, and Harry then made his way up to his room in the dormitories.

* * *

Harry opened the door to his room, pleased to see it was in the same layout as he had remembered. He was sure that it would have been either much larger or more cramped because of the increased number of people in their seventh year, but he counted the same number of beds as usual and recognised the trunks that belonged to his peers. The _real_ seventh years must have been in a different room.

Harry shrugged away his feelings of nostalgia as he eyed the four-poster bed allocated to him and gave a quick sweep of the room for anything suspicious. Just to be sure, he raised his wand and muttered, "_Homenum Revelio_." Nothing happened. Satisfied that he was alone, he approached his bed and sat down, fishing the parchment from his pocket. Although he didn't recognise the handwriting Harry knew instantly who the letter was from, as certain words captured his attention when he unfolded the note. The writer didn't leave a signature, but Harry understood that it was from Malfoy.

_Potter,_

_I expect by now you have spoken to Granger about arranging some discreet means of communication between us. I hope you came up with a decent excuse to tell her. I do _not_ want to have to find myself being questioned by nosey bints. Meet me outside the dungeons at midnight tonight – once classes begin you won't have much chance to speak with me without giving yourself away. For goodness sake, don't get caught._

Harry threw his head back and let out a heave of frustration. It was his first night back at Hogwarts and already he was being ordered around. Who did Malfoy think he was? Well, that particular question was pretty easy to answer, but _still_, he had no right to be so bossy. After all, Harry was doing him a favour, and he didn't have to put up with that nonsense. They weren't even friends, and Harry didn't care what Malfoy thought of him. If this kept up, he would probably end up ignoring Malfoy's requests just to spite him.

Still, Harry was intrigued with the idea of helping him and he couldn't help but feel like he would be doing the right thing by attending their meeting that night. Maybe if they got off on the right foot, they could see eye-to-eye for a change. That is, if Malfoy really had become a better person. Harry still didn't know exactly why he had decided to help Malfoy in the first place, but he couldn't shrug this feeling. He found himself searching for answers in his subconscious, but it only drew out a hazy memory of smoke and fire. The heat surrounding him, suffocating him. Malfoy wrapped around his body, clutching for dear life. He had been so _scared_, like nothing Harry had ever witnessed before; the primitive instinct to cling to his only means of protection drilled through Harry's head.

At that moment Harry knew that he _was_ doing the right thing, and he compelled himself to help. With this new task set, Harry opened his trunk and rummaged through it for his invisibility cloak.


	7. Restless

_Chapter Seven - Restless_

* * *

Harry trudged through the dark hallways of the school on the ground level under the cover of the invisibility cloak and felt his stomach twist a little. _It's my first night back at Hogwarts, _he repeated to himself for the umpteenth time, _and I'm already out after curfew and breaking so many school rules._ Seeing as he was particularly poor at learning from past mistakes, Harry knew this could not be a good start to the year. He recalled only too well that he had broken the rules from day one when he was sixteen, and that year didn't bring many positive experiences at all. Nevermind the fact that Draco Malfoy had played a major role in Harry's investigations then too. Harry had to shut his eyes tight and hold his breath for a moment to stop his hands from shaking from the irony.

Just a few more steps and… _yes_. The passageway leading to the dungeons below the school was in such an obscure and unnecessarily far away location from everything else, and Harry was grateful for his decent memory or else he'd probably have ended up completely lost in the darkness. He stopped for a second and assessed his surroundings. A ghost trailed through a wall on the far end of the hallway that he had just come from, but the air was otherwise completely still but for his racing heart. As much as he didn't like the idea of being alone in the dungeons with Malfoy, Harry couldn't just ignore his letter, not when there was a chance that Malfoy could change.

Taking another breath Harry plunged his body into the total darkness of the passage and down a seemingly endless flight of stairs. The blind descent was unnerving so he cast a _Lumos_ with his wand under the cloak. The light shone brightly in his face but did not penetrate into the darkness beyond him, and only the very near edges of steps by his feet as they brushed past the cloak could be seen. It wasn't desirable, but the only real cause for complaint was the creepiness the passage exuded. Just how exactly did all of those Slytherin students manage to stand going up and down this claustrophobic space from day in to day out? It was bad enough without the steepness of the stairs; Harry felt like he could fall at any moment. No wonder he hadn't tried going back to the dungeons since his first venture with Polyjuice potion in second year – it just didn't feel like it was worth all the hassle.

After what seemed like an age, Harry finally felt his foot step onto level ground and let a wave of relief pass through his body. _First obstacle down_, his mind flickered, still trying to pay some attention to the task at hand. However, he didn't need to walk for long before he heard a sharp voice from beyond the threshold of darkness before him.

"I know you're there, Potter," came a low drawl from Malfoy. "After all this time I'd expected you to be competent at concealing yourself properly, but this is the second time that I have caught you under the guise of your cloak." He stepped from the shadows that hung around a torch burning emerald green on the wall to reveal a grimace staring at the staircase expectantly.

Harry threw off his cloak, somewhat impressed. "How did you know it was me?"

"Do you not realise that just because I can not _see_ you does not mean that I can not _hear_ you?"

Harry felt a slight flush in his cheeks. Of course he hadn't been trying to stay hidden, there was no one to hide from! Regardless, it was possible that in his slack he might have been discovered by whoever listened carefully to the sound of his dragging feet or heavy sighs. Malfoy could see this clearly on Harry's face, and an impish grin slid across his own.

"That doesn't matter!" Harry called, quickly remembering that it was past midnight and they were both out of their common rooms. He adjusted his voice as necessary, "I'm here now, so what do you want?"

Malfoy grabbed Harry's arm and quickly pulled him into a nearby room, shutting the door behind them quietly. Harry lit up the area with his wand to find it was an old storage closet used for cauldrons, and large enough for the two to stand at a comfortable distance. Malfoy cast an imperturbable charm, locked the door behind them, and turned to face Harry.

"Okay, right. What do you want?" Harry asked again, a bit more loudly.

He saw the blonde man's face buckle slightly before regaining absolute composure once again. "You can not possibly tell me that you can't read?" His voice was cold and cruel.

"What?"

"Did you even _read_ my note, or are you just exploring the halls, being the _bad boy_?" Malfoy's tone lingered on those last few words with a heavy slice of contempt as his arms curled up into a tight fold across his chest. Harry guessed that he was trying to conceal his jealousy that Harry always did whatever he wanted and always got away with it. He didn't understand why it was such a big problem seeing as everything always seemed to work out just fine at the end.

"Oh yeah, the note." Caught up in the eeriness of his surroundings Harry had almost completely forgotten about the short note that Malfoy had sent. That was a stupid thing to do, considering it was the reason why he was down here in the first place, but the spooky aura of the dungeon hallway had gotten under his skin.

"And?" His counterpart showed his impatience.

With that, he decided to cut to the chase. "I spoke to Hermione about the Galleon, but she made one for herself too, which means that we can't use them without her finding out," Harry admitted with a little more regret than he had anticipated. If they couldn't find a way to communicate, then he could just walk away from their deal. It wasn't like he hadn't tried, and he wasn't keen on spending too much time in the same vicinity as Malfoy than what was absolutely necessary and unavoidable, so Harry couldn't understand why he was suddenly experiencing this pang of guilt. But he was.

Despite this, Malfoy didn't look the slightest bit irked. He had probably been anticipating this, waiting for his opportunity to show that Harry Potter, the Boy Wonder, jwas helpless on his own. Or so Harry thought, anyway. Instead, Malfoy shrugged and let a tiny sigh of air escape his mouth before clenching his jaws shut tight. He was disappointed.

"W-wait!" Harry stammered, grasping for any idea, any at all. "I'll figure something out."

"Never mind, Potter." Malfoy's voice was as loathsome as ever, but Harry couldn't help but detect a hint of emotion there that seemed to express what he had just seen. "It's not like any self-respecting Slytherin would be caught dead cooperating with you anyhow. Just think what my father would say." With that he turned on his heels to open the door and leave.

"Malfoy!"

He stopped at the sound of his name, but didn't turn to face Harry. "What is it?"

"If you feel that way, then why are you even here?" Harry struggled to breathe out those words without his voice shaking, though he didn't know quite why.

"Don't be absurd. I for one know the elementaries of reading and writing."

"That's not what I mean."

At this point the Slytherin had managed to turn around so quickly that Harry could have been fooled that perhaps they had been facing each other the whole time. He gulped, noticing that the face before him was stark white and scrunched in disgust.

"Then what exactly _do_ you mean?" Malfoy spat.

"I know better than anyone out there that you can't stand to be near me, and its not like it isn't that obvious either. You tried to kill me!" Harry clenched his fists together, his knuckles turning as pale as Malfoy's face.

"I recall specifically trying to _not_ kill you." Malfoy's face was still twisted, but he let his voice drop a notch back from disgust to contempt.

"Then why do you hate me so much?" Harry relaxed his hands and the colour slowly began to seep back into them. He didn't know why, but this subject was far less touchy to him than what seemed the trivialities of blood status or his past forays into dark magic. Harry just wanted to know the answer, and he didn't think he'd care what it was.

Malfoy's face dropped, his expression smooth, almost sagging, but he still retained control over the inflections in his voice. "I _don't _hate you, you stupid git. Don't you see that by now?"

"What?" Harry stood there as if he'd been jinxed; the other wizard rolled his eyes.

"If I hated you, I'd have attacked you by now. Remember last time we were on that train alone, Potter? I recall thoroughly kicking in your nose." Despite what he was saying now, Malfoy seemed to linger on that thought. If the light had been better Harry could have sworn that the other man licked his lips, as if the thought itself were too delicious to keep to himself.

"So..?" Harry was still petrified, it seemed. Another eye roll followed.

"I'm trying to reconcile."

"Reconcile?"

"Yes, make up for the bad blood between us."

"But… why?" Harry was so sure that Malfoy was just trying to scheme against him, just as he had been so sure before that he wasn't. It was all too confusing.

Malfoy looked a little disgusted at himself. "You're not going to make me say this, are you, Potter?"

"Say what?"

The blonde man responded by tapping his foot quickly on the stone floor, as if trying to gather up his composure. Harry wasn't helping, it looked, as he gawked awkwardly around the room. Malfoy sighed.

"Everything that's happened is because of you, you know that Potter?" he said eventually.

"What?" It was as though Harry couldn't make out words of more than one syllable.

"This! Everything! If it weren't for you, we'd all be dead, or slaves, or hiding for our lives." Malfoy paused, but Harry waited for him to continue, so he reluctantly carried on. "I can see that, and… well… I'm glad that you killed the Dark Lord."

"I didn't kill him!" Harry defended.

"Oh, so it was a Cornish pixie, then?" An incredulous glare swept towards Harry.

"His curse backfired!"

"Regardless, he died by your hand, because of your actions- it doesn't _matter_, Potter!" he cut himself short to keep control as Harry tried to open his mouth in protest once more. "I'm saying that I don't care! I'm happy, even! I didn't want to be a part of all of this nonsense to begin with." It was his turn now to receive a look of disbelief. It must have made him uncomfortable, because the next words dropped to barely more than a whisper. "Not really, anyway."

Harry looked to his feet and thought about that for a moment. "Yeah, I can see how you were roped into this whole holier-than-thou act by your father," he said after a short time had passed. "But that still doesn't explain why you want to have anything to do with me. Don't tell me you're trying to grovel at my feet like the rest of the wizarding community." He shuddered at the thought, which was truly disgusting.

"Like I'd ever consider stooping so low. Grovelling, _really_." Malfoy spat once more.

"Why, then?"

"I said this before, Potter. I wish you'd listen, perhaps then you'd have some real reason to be so famous in this school other than your ridiculous Gryffindor tendencies." Another roll of the eyes; the room must have been spinning for him at that point. "The unfortunate series of events guided our rapport to be something less than positive. I don't know what would have happened _had _you taken my hand on the Express in our first year, and it doesn't matter to linger on the past as such. Anyhow, I feel that there is something to be desired in how you display your wandwork, and as I explained earlier, learning some new tricks that others don't know about would only be beneficial on my part. That is why I proposed this reconciliation. A truce, even."

Harry stood in his place, as he had for the entire conversation, and tried to size up exactly what Malfoy had been saying. He wasn't sure if he had actually confessed that Harry was the better wizard, but he _had_ said that Harry was better with some of his magic, and that was certainly not something to laugh at. Malfoy was, after all, a very proud pure-blood with a keen distaste for anything Muggle related, and for him to admit that Harry, with a Muggle mother and upbringing, was superior…

"It doesn't matter though, if you can't figure out a way for us to converse without drawing suspicion." Malfoy stated rather matter-of-factly and without any emotion at all. "It would hardly be practical to keep meeting here. Someone is bound to want a cauldron at some point, and I can't talk to you in public."

"Why not?" Harry interjected.

"You don't expect me to flat out admit to the entire school that Harry Potter was right and I was wrong? What would happen to my image? Those people who didn't hate me would start to _feel sorry _for me."

"Sorry I asked," Harry muttered.

"I don't need that from you either. I guess I'll just start acting like that… Granger girl," Malfoy seemed to stop himself just in time, "and spend my evenings lurking the restricted section in the library."

"Malfoy, you can't! There's dark magic in there! Its _illegal_!"

"That's their own fault then for putting such tempting texts in a school full of children."

"But you don't need dark magic!"

"There's nothing else-"

"I killed Voldemort with a _disarming _spell." Harry took a step forward, as though closing the gap between them showed how deeply he felt about the subject. "Its how you use the magic that counts."

"Shame how I'll never know," he yawned.

Harry took another step forward and grasped hold of Malfoy's elbow as he turned away again. Inspiration had hit.

"Malfoy! How you _use_ it!" he spluttered.

The blonde man stared down at his elbow and then back up at Harry, unsure of what was happening.

"What are you-"

"I know how to do this. I can _show_ you that you don't need to practise the Dark Arts ever again!"

Harry let his eyes sweep over Malfoy's physique in what could only be described by the other man's face as uncomfortable, but he didn't care. The moment his eyes set on what was needed, Harry let a cunning smile glide across his face.

"That ring!" he exclaimed. On Malfoy's right hand a thick silver and green band shone brightly as the light from Harry's wand touched it.

"What about my ring?" Malfoy looked up suspiciously.

"Its past midnight, and no one is around to care what you're dressed like." Harry let his eyes glance over Malfoy again to reinforce his point. "Your robes are creased and your hair hasn't been brushed in hours, but you're still wearing your ring."

At this point Malfoy tugged himself free of Harry's grip and turned, his eyes still full of suspicion. "Of course, Potter. You may know nothing of pride over your heritage, but I never allow myself to be without this ring. It shows how privileged I am to be a part of everything that has come to pass… with some slight exceptions."

"That's exactly my point."

Malfoy eyed Harry carefully. "Go on."

"The whole idea about using the fake Galleon was to have something to communicate with that no one would ever suspect. And who would suspect your ring to contain some secret code within it? No one!"

"Are you saying you plan to _defile_ my ring with your low-level magic, Potter?" Malfoy glowered at the thought.

Harry countered by folding his arms. "Weren't you just saying before about how I have a way with my wandwork?"

He watched Malfoy ponder the idea, and it seemed as though thoughts were racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. Eventually he seemed to come back up for air. "I thought you needed a _fake_ item to communicate with," Malfoy questioned.

"Well, Hermione only used all fakes, because she didn't want to risk losing a real Galleon amongst others, or accidentally spending it. But… I think that if I can make a copy of your ring, it will still work."

"And you expect me to trust you with bewitching my Slytherin ring?"

At this point, Harry let his smile furrow deeper into the sides of his face, and revealed a toothy grin. "You could do it, if you like. But I don't think you know the proper technique."

He had anticipated Malfoy's reaction perfectly, and felt positively gleeful at the horrendous look that was sharply focused at him. _Who cares?_ Harry knew something that Malfoy didn't, and it wasn't something as simple as duelling, either. He didn't hide for a moment how he was feeling as he watched the Slytherin squirm ever so slightly.

"Fine, do it," came a long awaited sigh, and Harry let his face settle again as he began to concentrate, his hand held out. "But if you so much as scratch it I'll-"

"I know, I know," Harry interjected. "You'll tell your father and I'll be in serious trouble."

"Screw my father! I'm Head Boy! You'll have detention writing lines for a month!" Malfoy reluctantly plied the ring off of his finger and dropped it into Harry's hand, his head turned away as though he couldn't bear to see what he was doing. Harry respected that; it must have taken a lot of nerve to deliver something so important into the awaiting hands of the enemy. There must have been a great deal of trust. Odd, that Malfoy could ever trust Harry, though he had never done anything to reinforce that idea. That's just how it was between those two – a constant struggle for power at the clash of ideals.

Harry looked down at the ring in his hand. Despite its small size, it was rather heavy, as though its weight made it more significant. The silver ring glistened from daily polishing and bore a snake on the top in the shape of an 'S' in a simple monogram. The eye of the snake shone green, and Harry recognised it to be an emerald, most likely cut in some ridiculously expensive shape that would catch all angles of light and blah blah blah, but it was too small to do such a thing as it were. The band was thick and large enough to conceal engraved writing, which made it the perfect guise.

He readied his wand, trying his hardest to duplicate Hermione's movements and inflections as he cast, "_Geminio_."

There was a small popping sound, which was unlike what he had seen in the carriage earlier that night, and terror filled Malfoy's face. Harry, too, thought that he had made a mistake, but surely enough an exact copy of the ring seemed to slide out of the original, shining as brightly as its real counterpart. He let out a proud smile, but knew he wasn't finished yet. Pointing the wand again, he muttered "_Proteus_." Both rings glowed faintly and he felt the familiar warmth wash over his hand before it subsided quickly.

"Done," he beamed up at Malfoy, who was still bracing himself for something bad to happen. Nothing did, though.

Harry held his hand out to Malfoy to inspect the rings, to which he was met with an incoherent mutter of praise. Harry had to pull it back when Malfoy tried to claim the original ring.

"I'll need the real one," Harry said, to which he was shot the most horrible look yet.

"Are you kidding? Isn't it enough for me to let you practise charms on my most prized possession, and now you want to _keep_ it?" Malfoy scowled.

"Borrowing. You'll get it back."

"You shouldn't have it for a second longer than you have already!"

"Then you can forget about anything happening in the future." Harry was still calm, and had been bracing for this part of discussion.

"I never would have picked you for the _selfish _type, Potter."

"You're the one being selfish, Malfoy."

"_How_ exactly, am I being selfish for trying to claim what is rightfully mine?"

"The spell doesn't work that way. The message is communicated to the fake object through the one that it spawned from. Meaning that for me to send you any messages, I need to cast them on the real ring."

Malfoy's mouth dropped open ever so slightly, and he looked quite similar to a deer in headlights. It seemed that he hadn't even thought about that part of the spell.

"Then why can't I just send _you_ messages?" he muttered.

"And have you demand me to wait on you hand and foot? Not likely." Harry's voice was surprisingly stern. "I'm the one giving up my time here, so _I_ get to decide the whens and wheres."

"But I can't just let you take my ring and cast spells in it whenever you like!"

Harry let out a sigh of exasperation. "I'll give it back."

"What makes me so sure to trust you?"

To that Harry shot a hard glare at Malfoy and let it sit for a while. If anything, it was Harry who should be questioning the motives of _Malfoy_, not the other way around. After all, he had gone behind everyone's backs and done some horrible, nasty things in the previous few years. Yet, Harry still felt as though he was making the correct decision. Eventually he dropped his stare and made a simple statement that Malfoy couldn't object to.

"I gave your wand back, didn't I?"

With that, the blonde man took a step back, clearly defeated. If he wanted to work with Harry, he'd have to trust him, and that meant more than handing over his ring and then snatching it back up like a greedy child. He did actually snatch the ring away at that moment, but Harry was relieved to see that it was the copy that he had made, the original silver ring still sitting in the palm of his hand.

"Don't go wearing it, or anything like that," he muttered.

Harry hadn't planned to. Instead he slipped it into his front trouser pocket. "If I were to do that, I'd get some pretty funny looks."

"Well don't go losing it. It might not seem valuable to you, but it holds more than merely a strong sentiment to my family. And to me." Malfoy still managed to sneak a grumpy glare, this time resembling a small child considering throwing a temper tantrum.

"I won't lose it, and no one will find it. I promise."

One more glare, and then Malfoy's face relaxed to something Harry was more familiar with, though it wasn't anything welcoming. "If there is nothing more for us to say, I should like to get back to bed now. I have classes in the morning, and unlike you, I plan to pass my N.E.W.T.s this year."

Harry took that as an attempt to be civil, but still let himself scoff a retort. "I hope they aren't as bad as you make them seem, considering _you are_ repeating the year."

He thought he noticed some anguish register in Malfoy's eyes, but his head had turned before Harry could tell. After Malfoy had taken down the charms and left the room Harry followed him out. Within seconds, Harry was alone once again in the dark and narrow hall leading to the dungeons. He turned about face and pulled his cloak over himself once again as he prepared for the long ascent up the steep and winding staircase.

* * *

"I _do_ wish you would pay attention, Mr. Potter. Really, we've barely begun and you're already falling behind!" Professor Flitwick gave Harry a look of sympathy, as though his inability to make the apple in front of him spin perfect circles in the air had something to do with the lightning scar on his forehead.

That wasn't the case at all. In truth, Harry hadn't found his way back to the common room until nearly two o'clock that morning, and when he did walk through the door behind the portrait of the Fat Lady a couple of bright-eyed first years discussing the day ahead jumped at the chance to pester him with questions. Indulging in their requests so they would leave him quicker, Harry gave a few monosyllabic answers and then drooped off to bed. As if that wasn't enough, it turned out that Professor Rosewood wasn't kidding about being keen on discussing timetables in the morning, and she had set off the dorms to chime a shrill alarm at the stroke of six. And now here he was, barely conscious, in his first class of the day, trying to will the clock to spin faster and let them out so that he could have a break – and probably a nap. If only he knew wandless magic.

Harry sighed as his eyes struggled to focus on his apple making nauseous loops, instead of spinning like a top just as Hermione demonstrated. As hard as he tried to concentrate, he ended up making it flip violently and rocket across the room, exploding on the far wall. Flitwick glanced anxiously towards Harry, but quickly turned to assist another student. At least there was some benefit to being the world's saviour, and Harry hoped he'd get some leniency on his off days.

"First class, first day," Ron piped up next to him encouragingly. "It's been two years since we've had to deal with this. I can't help but feel that I've lost the touch myself."

"Sure, Ron," Harry sighed, but he knew that these were only empty sympathies. Ron was doing almost as well as Hermione, and grinning at the fact quite openly.

In fact, Harry seemed to be the only person who was having any kind of difficulty with the magic, which was relatively low-levelled compared to what he would need to know by the time exams rolled around. Heck, even Malfoy, who was sitting in the back corner with some other Slytherins, was performing admirably. Harry shot him an eyeful of resentment, or at least he would have had the other wizard been looking in his direction, which he wasn't. Malfoy hadn't so much as walked past him, let alone glanced his way all morning, and was putting on quite a farce for his peers. If Harry hadn't been so completely exhausted from staying up so late, he could have even convinced himself that everything had been a dream. At least he wouldn't have to worry his own friends about this new agreement between the two. Just what would they have said, anyway?

As the rest of the day carried on, Harry was pleased to find that he had a two-hour break before his next class after Charms, though he was unable to sneak in some shut-eye. Instead, he remembered having vague conversations with other Gryffindors, including some of the other seventh years from the younger class that he didn't really know. They were all quite excited to be finally in classes with the 'Great Harry Potter' and all pledged to do their best to make him proud, or something along those lines. Like he needed that pressure.

Before lunch he had Transfiguration, which, to his relief, was still being taught by McGonagall due to a lack of suitable teaching staff available. She said that once a replacement came along she would take her leave, but hadn't specified a time, and Harry hoped that she was never replaced. He somehow managed to successfully transfigure a rose into a framed picture of the flower; although he didn't know exactly what it was he did that granted him success. Regardless, it was a small victory that he was willing to take.

Lunch was another question-and-answer session, this time with Harry being shot questions whilst trying to down a sandwich at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. By this point he was feeling truly sleep deprived and at some point in the mass of voices he forgot to breathe whist eating and ended up wheezing to the point that he coughed up his mouthful back onto the plate. The younger girls squealed, and some ran away. Harry suspected he heard laughter coming in the direction of the Slytherin table, and after he managed to catch his breath to a normal rhythm again he was being ushered by Hermione to see the nurse.

"I'm fine," he tried to reason with her, but Hermione wouldn't take no for an answer. Apparently he had looked off colour all morning, and because Harry couldn't (or wouldn't) explain why she suspected that he was coming down with something.

By the time lunch had ended, Madam Pomfrey had insisted that he stay in the Hospital wing and rest, much to his protest. Eventually she gave in and allowed Harry to leave, but under the condition that he not attend his final two classes for the day and try to avoid the excitement of the limelight for the rest of the day. _Easier said than done_, Harry thought, but he agreed and made his way back to his dorm in Gryffindor Tower. Luckily most students were in classes, and he was able to slip to bed for the rest of the afternoon, drifting off effortlessly into a peaceful sleep before he was woken by the violent nudges of his friend.

"Harry," Ron whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am now," he groaned.

"Sorry. You missed dinner, so I brought you some. You don't have to eat it though, if you're not feeling right." Ron looked a little worried.

"Yeah, thanks."

The redhead stared at the food in his hands until Harry sat up and took it, and once Harry started eating he cast a nervous question. "It's not Ginny, is it?"

"What's not Ginny?" Harry replied, his mouth half full with meat from a chicken drumstick.

"The reason why you're off today."

To be perfectly honest, Harry had more pressing matters on his mind than worrying about his girlfriend. That is, if she still was his girlfriend – the answer to that, he didn't know. Either way, it hadn't even registered that she had sat in the same classes as the two that he attended that morning. Besides, he knew that he was so off colour because of _sodding_ Malfoy, but he couldn't tell Ron that. Instead he decided to settle with a half-truth.

"I couldn't get to sleep last night, and when I went to go get some air I was jumped by a couple of first years."

Ron let his brows drop. "Sorry mate."

"What are you sorry for?" Harry took another mouthful and swallowed the food before continuing. "Its not your fault."

"I know, but it must be tough having to deal with this kind of stuff when you just want to be left alone."

"_Now _you get it. And it only took a few long months," Harry laughed.

Ron glanced back sheepishly. The two sat together and talked in the dim moonlight cast through the windows, Harry feeling slightly more rejuvenated and able to take part in the conversation. By the time Harry finished eating he was exhausted again, and Ron let him go back to sleep. It was just about time for curfew anyway.

Now protected once more by the covers of his bed, Harry let his mind wander as he felt himself drifting towards sleep. As the past few years' events had been because of him, this past day had been the fault of one Draco Malfoy. _Malfoy, that prat_, he thought, _because of this, I'm going to make you wait long and hard before I even consider using this ring._


	8. Quidditch Tryouts

_Chapter Eight - Quidditch Tryouts_

* * *

"Um… alright everyone." Harry swallowed down hard trying to calm his nerves, but it didn't help much. He still didn't like public speaking, however small the group. "We're going to first do a few laps of the pitch, and then I'll tell you where to go from there."

Harry was standing on a box that he managed to transfigure from a large stick on the ground, his head slightly higher than the crowd around him as he tried to take in the sight. Although he tried to arrange the Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs during a time that was only convenient for most of the older students, he could see eager faces smiling up at him from representatives of every year, and there were about fifty people standing around him. Perhaps he should have been a little less open about the date and time, but Harry didn't expect to see so many people on a Wednesday morning, not when classes were in effect. This was even worse than his previous year as Captain, but he did have a sudden popularity boost since his last year at Hogwarts.

_Oh well, _he thought, _at least there's less of a crowd of spectators this time. _He noted that there were only a couple of Hufflepuff girls from his year watching at that moment from the bleachers.

He stepped down from the box and told everyone to take to the skies, watching as the first year students tried to nervously command their brooms "Up!" to mount them. It was only the second week, after all, and he knew that they would have barely had one lesson in flying yet. By giving everyone a chance and getting them to do some standard flying techniques he was able to weed out the new fliers in a more compassionate way than most other captains. Even though he hated the fame, Harry didn't like judging people just because they had no practise. Remarkably though, a handful of first years were quite adept at flying, and were in the skies before any of the pre-existing team. It took Harry a moment to remember that wizarding children were raised differently; the Weasleys often spent time frolicking in their orchard playing two-a-side Quidditch when they were youngsters.

He walked up to a limp-haired girl whose broom was swaying violently sideways vertically as she tried to hop on and put his hand on her shoulder gently. "Have you ever flown before?" he asked as softly as his touch. She shook her head similarly to her broom, letting it go. It gave a violent heave and then took to the sky towards the other students who were waiting for Harry.

"I'll get it!" a cry came from up above, and Ron dashed through the air to retrieve the broom. Harry gave a wave of thanks, and then looked up at the idle mass of bodies floating in the middle of the pitch directly above.

"I said laps!" he called, and they all started moving about like a flock of angry red birds, almost in a pattern that could be described to resemble a 'V'. One figure didn't move at all though, and Harry assumed it was a younger student without proper control of their broom yet. He would get to them soon, but first he had to deal with the people still on the ground.

Harry looked down to the girl he was still standing next to. Tears were beginning to well from the corners of her eyes, and it seemed that when he looked back at her it became all too much.

"I just wanted to make my mum proud! She said to show Mr. Potter how lovely I am as a lady, and interesting too!" she wailed, looking cross at herself.

Harry couldn't help but laugh, even though it made him look insensitive. He had supposed he might get some of this sort of attention, but he hadn't anticipated it might come from an eleven year old. _I guess some parents are as headstrong here as some of the Muggles I knew,_ he sighed to himself, instantly realising that that was an understatement. The moment he loosened his lax grip from her shoulder, the girl ran away towards the castle.

"Are there any others here who can't actually fly?" Harry asked the other five who were still firmly planted on the ground. "You _did_ hear what I said earlier about Quidditch being a dangerous sport, right? I've ended up in the Hospital wing so many times I've lost count, and I _know_ how to use my broom. I'd hate to know how bad it'd have been if I couldn't fly properly."

The group flinched, and a couple people looked away uncomfortably, most likely trying to picture some gruesome ends that might meet them; he had made his point. Harry was about to tell them to run back to class, when he was met by the strangely comforting voice of Professor Rosewood, her crimson hair in stark contrast to the dull grey sky of the early autumn morning.

"Hello, Harry!" she called as she approached, though still too far away for a comfortable volume.

Harry let her close the gap as he inspected her robes, which were today a dazzling gold with red trim, not too unlike the dress robes Madam Malkin had given him, but inverted. Rosewood themed her robes with her mood each day, and her wardrobe was a kaleidoscope of colours. Harry supposed that today was meant to be one of House pride, as everyone had managed to remind him.

"_Re-forming the Gryffindor Quidditch team properly since two years ago, and with the 'Great' Harry Potter leading once more," Ron had crowed earlier at breakfast that morning, "is there anything we could be more proud of?"_

"I hope you're not sending them away," Rosewood chimed in the direction of the kids still on the ground. "And after all the effort I went to, getting them permission to be out of their classes!"

"That was you?" Harry asked, astonished. McGonagall had never allowed students to skip class to attend practise, and they had to usually schedule time on the weekends when classes were out, when the pitch was at its busiest.

Rosewood stared back and poorly imitated the girl who had run off before. She had seen the whole spectacle, along with another that had come before today. "B-but, Harry Potter's gonna be there, Miss! I have to try!" She looked ridiculous and unprofessional, her face scrunched up uncomfortably, and hair thrown in her face, but Harry admitted that it was pretty funny. "How am I supposed to say no to that?"

"Alright, alright," he waved at her to stop as he let out a chuckle. "They can stay and watch."

Rosewood lifted her arms in achievement. Of course, she had the right to the final say the whole time, but Harry guessed she liked pretending to be one of his peers. He didn't mind much either, as he suspected her admiration came from something other than the notorious gossiping from the daily newspapers and mouths of witches and wizards playing a long and drawn out game of Chinese Whispers. Besides, she was playing around, not grovelling, worshipping, or fawning. The whole world seemed like a great big game, not to be taken seriously, and Harry found himself wondering sometimes what it was like to see things from her eyes. She reminded him of Luna, but more grounded as he could attest to her sanity; Rosewood had nearly spat out her pumpkin juice from laughing the other day when Harry asked her opinion on Wrackspurts.

Harry gave one more light hearted chuckle as he ushered the students on the ground to the benches to one side of the pitch and told them they could stay and watch, Rosewood joining them. He then grabbed the Cleansweep Eleven that he was currently borrowing from the broom cupboard in the change rooms and pushed off the ground hard. He wasn't used to the broom, but got the hang of it quickly, though slightly disappointed at its performance. It took him twenty seconds to reach the middle of the pitch at the same altitude as student stuck in the centre of the oval, when his Firebolt could close that gap in under ten. No wonder he was so adept at catching the snitch when most students were still riding brooms like the one he was on now. If Harry didn't know the nuances of the game better, he'd have thought that allowing students to have different brooms was unfair.

Once he was closer to the student, who he now recognised to be a third year boy, he could instantly see what the problem was. The boy was frozen with fear on the broom, and his muscles had tensed up. Harry tried calling to him, but received no response till he asked the boy's name.

"P…Patrick," came a shaky voice.

After the first response things were a little easier. "Patrick, have you ever flown before? You seemed to know what you were doing up until now."

"Yes, but… I've never been this hi-igh!" his body shook and one wrong movement sent the broom to spin a full circle sending Patrick forward headfirst.

Once he was horizontal to the ground again Harry grabbed the boy and decided it was best to take him back down. Patrick spent the rest of the try-outs on the bleachers with the other washouts, holding himself while he shivered.

The rest of the students in the sky actually knew what they were doing, and by now they had each completed four laps of the Quidditch pitch. Harry would have stopped them by now, but he hadn't had time to watch their flying, so let them do one more lap before calling them back to the centre of the pitch.

* * *

"Okay, so first off, I'll let the previous team members have a go. They should know what they're doing, and be able to give you all a bit of a look at what you need to do."

Harry called first for Dean, Ginny and Demelza, who had all been Chasers back in his 6th year, and told them to play both offensive and defensive positions. He put Ron at the goals, and then let them have at it. After two or three minutes they had successfully played out four different scenarios that were commonly used on the field in actual matches, and only Ginny had managed to sink a goal in past Ron. He was not pleased, of course, and his face flustered to match his orange hair. Everyone else found the situation quite amusing as he called stupid taunts at his sister.

Harry then asked for a show of hands for who wanted to have a go at Chasing, and then gave each person a couple of rounds, playing both offence and defence. Only a couple of people showed any real promise, and three students decided that after an abysmal performance that it was better for them to not try for other positions and instead find a place on the bleachers.

Next he let a few people have a go of Keeping, and then he let his previous teammates have a rest. When Harry looked down at his list of applicants for Beaters, he expected to see the names of Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote, but was surprised to find that Ritchie hadn't applied this year. He later found out that Ritchie had withdrawn from Hogwarts and moved to Canada to put as much distance between him and the bad memories of Britain as possible. _His loss_, Harry thought, but now he had to find another suitable Beater, someone who could live up to the reputation of Fred and George Weasley, who were both as wicked on the field as they were on the ground. He frowned as he thought of his friends, but he didn't let it show.

"Peakes!" Jimmy moved forward and took the bat from Harry's outstretched hand. He had grown a bit, now a fifth year, and up in the wind his hair resembled Harry's. Harry looked back down at his list, and picked a name at random. "Martin, take a bat!"

A lanky sixth year approached Harry uneasily. He had never seen this boy before on the pitch, and only a few times in passing in the Common Room or Great Hall, so Harry was unsure what to expect. Amazingly enough, Gerard Martin was quite handy with the bat, boasting his talent coming from past forays into the Muggle sport known as cricket. Harry asked him why he had never tried out before, and the boy shrugged, saying he was most comfortable on the ground, but Harry could see that he was doing fine up in the air.

Finally came the call for wannabe seekers, and everyone who hadn't tried for any other position – all twenty of them – fumbled closer to Harry, their eyes like a sea of twinkling stars.

"Okay, now I know something is up," Harry said incredulously as he eyed the small crowd that encircled him. "You guys understand that there's only one Seeker in a game, and I've got that spot, right?"

There were a few nods, but others looked a little confused. Did he really have to spell it out for them? Apparently so.

"If you're here to play with me and you go for a Seeker position, there's no way we'll ever be on the pitch together in a proper game. This is the substitute Seeker spot you're all trying out for."

Harry noticed that more than half of the crowd took a slight 'step' back from him, and he let out a knowing sigh. In the end, he decided to let those who were serious about the position to have a run about with snitch, and while they were flying away at far corners of the pitch, he told the others that if they still wanted to be on the team he would allow them to try for other spots. This resulted with Ron and Ginny looking after the few who were attempting the usual field positions while Harry went and flew with the Seekers. After fifteen minutes the movement in the middle of the pitch slowed, alerting Harry that they were done, and he rounded up the students he was flying with. With a flick of his wand, the snitch came flying straight to his hand, and he had to explain quickly that the spell only worked because it knew that this wasn't a real game.

"But how does the ball 'know' that?" asked a second year girl, to whom Harry winked. The answer was, of course, magic.

* * *

Harry glanced down at the small gold pocket watch Molly Weasley had given him the previous year for his seventeenth birthday and noted it was nearly lunchtime. The whole try-out had taken nearly two and a half hours, but that was about right considering how many people were there today. He looked up at the expectant faces gathered around the bleachers on the ground to wait for Harry to approach and give his final decision.

Obviously Ron, Ginny, Demelza and Jimmy had shown fine form and would be making it back to the team in their previous positions, much to their delight. Dean had actually improved, and Harry suspected he had been practising during their time off from school, so there was no doubt that he would be given a permanent position as a Chaser this time, instead of the substitute position he had back in their sixth year. That left four spots left on the team, and Harry had written the names and positions on a piece of parchment that he held up before him and read aloud.

"Patrick Martin, Beater. Regina Poffet, Beater Substitute. Owen Cartwright, Chaser Substitute. Rachel Little, Keeper Substitute."

Those students stepped forward and joined Ron and the others to the side at the front, and the crowd cheered for them. Most didn't seem to care that they hadn't made the team, and a small group of girls looked rather relieved.

"Great choices, Harry," Ginny beamed as she came out of the crowd of well-wishers to face him.

"Thanks, I figured they got on best with the rest of the team." Harry blushed at the compliment.

He hadn't properly spoken to Ginny for almost a week, not since last Friday when she asked him when the try-outs would be. It was her idea to have it during classes, and she had even gone to the trouble to find out when the sixth and seventh years would have breaks in classes that were most convenient. It was all very Hermione-like, and Harry suspected outside intervention, but he didn't mention it. It was good enough to speak with Ginny without any bad air surrounding them, and he didn't feel pressured to act in any particular way around her now.

"Lunch?" Ginny asked as she held out her hand. Harry took it, and together they walked to the castle. It felt like everything had settled and Ginny had forgiven him, and he was alright with that.

* * *

Pansy stretched her arms widely as she tried to will her body off of the comfortable sofa in the Slytherin common room. The leather was soft and well worn, and the musky smell emitted an aura of fabulous wealth, something that she had always appreciated. She had never been in another House's common room, but on quieter days she wondered what they might be like, thinking of what tasteless décor each House might have. There was no sense in the idea that the four founders of Hogwarts having duplicated their tastes across the four Houses as their differences were so astounding; it was because of those differences that there were four different factions to begin with. Either way, she most certainly had the most comfortable seat in the whole castle, and it was making it difficult to get up.

"Are you coming or what?" Draco shot a glance towards Pansy to show he wasn't willing to wait around, and she found the motivation she needed to get up.

"That sofa is so comfortable," she mewled as she moved to walk beside the blonde man out of the common room and towards the main castle.

"Not as comfortable as the ones at my home," he replied dryly.

"Of course not! I was just stating that my expectations for Hogwarts were much lower when I first started here, and though for a rather gaudy place, they don't do so bad."

Draco looked down at Pansy as she tried to recover her words gracefully. "Its okay, I know you're not as lucky as me to have been given the best of everything. You can say the chair is the best in the world and I wouldn't think any less of you."

Pansy blushed. She was a pureblood and brought up to be a witch of high society, but she didn't know anyone as well off as Draco. The manor his parents owned was regal in its own right, and good enough to serve as headquarters for the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters when they needed the place. No matter what she told herself, Pansy just couldn't compete with that. Regardless, she wasn't going to let Draco think for a second longer than he had to that she was any less than what she made herself out to be.

"I think next time I'll add a few cushioning charms." She set her head high, nose in the air, as they stepped out into the dark corridors of the dungeons.

Pansy always loved the colour green ever since she was an infant, and her parents knew right away that she would fit in perfectly with the Slytherin clan. She decorated everything she owned with the colour, and slipped it in her casual attire as well. Even here in the corridor the flames lapping at the torches on the wall seemed to glimmer all the more brighter to her because of their brilliant emerald hue. She would always take these moments to try to steal gazes up at Draco's pale face and watch the lights dance over it. It was in this very light in her fourth year that she decided that she was in love with him, and every sight since reminded her of that fact.

_One day he will be mine, and I'll be able to gaze all I want_, she would tell herself as she pulled her eyes forward at any instance that her spying might be detected. It was so hard, but she did it for her reputation and her future. She didn't want him catching on to how she felt, though she often let her guard down around him; Pansy wanted it to work out in the end with Draco confessing _his_ love to her, so she could relish in it even more. The only problem was that no matter how hard she tried to send her subtle hints or be dazzling for him, Draco never caught on to anything. In some circumstances he distanced himself. She trusted it wasn't ever because of another girl, _oh no_, because if it _was_ she would know.

Pansy had decided to herself on the train that she would do whatever it took to win Draco's heart, and had been thinking hard of ways that would impress him. Her best idea was to publicly humiliate Harry Potter, who was all that Draco seemed to care about these days; that wretched Gryffindor had ruined Draco's life, stolen his wand, and dampened his reputation. She even had a grand plan, but feared that if she told Draco he'd laugh at her or call her foolish, so she kept her mouth shut. The time was nearing anyway, and he would soon see that she was the perfect witch for him. She had every right to become a Malfoy, he just needed to open his eyes and see that.

The two walked together for the short while that it took to arrive in the bright lights of the ground floor of the castle and towards the Great Hall where lunch was about to be served. As much as she would have liked to spend the rest of her lunch break relaxing in her dorm, Pansy felt quite famished and the food served here was almost at the same level as what she was used to at home.

The Great Hall was crowded with people - more so than usual, considering classes for the students below sixth year had yet to finish. It only took a moment to realise where all the commotion was coming from though, as her eyes and ears sent subliminal alerts towards the Gryffindor table. It was half full of students laughing and cheering, most of whom were wearing team colours, covered in flecks of mud and pieces of grass. Somehow the Gryffindors had managed to get some free time to go flying.

"How _primitive_," Pansy sneered as she turned past the table to sit at her own. "Flying about like owls. If they're so fascinated by it, why don't they move their things to the owlery?"

A couple younger Slytherins overheard her and snickered to each other, but Draco's face remained stony. "Does that make _me_ primitive, too? Considering I've been a Seeker since my second year."

"I thought you'd stopped caring for Quidditch. You didn't play last year, Draco!"

"That's because it was _banned_. If you so recall, that even upset me, or did you ignore that fact?" His expression remained unchanged.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Pansy realised that she had made yet another grave mistake.

"It doesn't matter now, does it? Seeing as Potter has made up a team of his own, that means that Slytherin will be holding try-outs soon, which means I'll be able to show off some new moves."

There it was again, Draco was being forced to compare himself to Harry Potter. And not just by playing on opposing sides in Quidditch, but also opposing positions. Pansy couldn't recall a single time when Draco had managed to outmanoeuvre Potter on the field, and although Slytherin had won some games, they had not been games that Potter was playing in. She was grateful that he had always managed to get himself in some sort of trouble that incapacitated him, but she wanted to see Draco win just once, and for him to shine with that glory so that she too could bask in it. Heck, lately she just wanted to see Draco in a good mood.

"Nice broom, Potter," Pansy heard Draco's voice over at the Gryffindor table, and her head spun round so fast that she was seeing stars. How had he gotten away from her? "Cleansweep Eleven, 'eh? What happened to your Firebolt?"

She couldn't hear what Potter mumbled, but was sure that it wasn't anything at all witty.

"Too bad then, I guess that means you'll be no match for me now, seeing as _I_ have a Firebolt of my own. A present from my father last year." Draco paused. "Come to think of it, he gave it to me some time in July. What a coincidence, hey, Potter. _Winners, keepers._" He gave a terrifying laugh and turned to join Pansy at the Slytherin table.

"What was that about?" she asked, pretending she hadn't overheard the conversation.

"Oh, just a little friendly rivalry. I don't have his broom, really, but its fun to make him think that I do. After all, I can use my mother's wand just fine, but he doesn't have a chance without his _precious_ Firebolt." Another laugh escaped Draco's mouth while the meal for lunch appeared, as if on his command. Pansy smiled up at him in awe.

* * *

Pansy's mind was reeling as she hurried to finish cleaning up her table at Herbology. In her carelessness, the hem of her robe had caught on the edge of a counter, and with one great tug on the material the whole fixture was overturned, dragging her along with it. Her body was stuck firm between the ground and the potting counter, with the small trays of seedlings they had been working on splayed across the ground. As a punishment – as if the embarrassment of this happening in front of her classmates wasn't enough – Professor Sprout had thought it a good idea that Pansy should clean up the mess she had made without the help of magic.

"Blasted stupid firebushes," she grumbled to herself as a leaf from a firebush seedling licked at her sleeve and it began to smoulder. "Why can't they just get the house elves to do this? I didn't even do this on purpose! As if they could punish me for something I didn't mean to do." No one could hear her though. Pansy was alone in one of the greenhouses, and the sun was beginning to set.

She shuddered a little as a wind chill crept through an open window, and she hastily slammed it shut before it could poke into the greenhouse any further; the last thing she needed was those firebushes going out. If it was any consolation, at least she was warm inside with the seedlings, the small portable heaters. Though it was only very early into autumn, the days were rapidly getting cooler. She suspected that they might even have snow much sooner than December, which was a positive in her book. Pansy loved the snow and bundling up in warm clothes, huddling close by the fire…

Right now was not the best time to be thinking dreamily, not when she was determined to be in such a bad mood. Since her comment about flying at lunch, Draco had completely ignored Pansy, and barely responded to her in their next class when she asked him to pass her a quill. That would have been bad enough on its own, but now that she had spent the past half hour cleaning up spilled fertiliser, pots, and seedlings without any sympathy, Pansy was positively fuming, and she knew exactly what to take her rage out on.

Making sure to carefully lock the greenhouse as she exited it, she quickly pulled her cloak around her more tightly and drew the hood over her head. If she had any doubt before, she was quick to accept the evidence crisp and cold against her skin; it was positively _icy_ outside. _Maybe I should have nicked one of those firebushes_, Pansy thought as she made her way further away from the castle and into the surrounding grounds. It was a five-minute walk, but the time it took to reach her destination was long enough to clearly form a picture in her mind of exactly what she was going to do.

The Gryffindor Quidditch change rooms were identical to those of the other Houses, bar the all-important colour scheme, but Pansy still felt like she was stepping into a dank and uninhabitable dwelling as she pushed forward the cloth fixtures acting as the entrance inside. Of course by magic, the room inside was at a constant ambient temperature that made her at once want to shrug off her cloak, but Pansy felt more devious concealed in black with glints of green here and there, so she went with her gut feeling and kept it on. In the end, it did help her feel even more relieved of some tension that had needed venting for quite some time.

Pansy had never actually set foot in a sporting change room before; she secretly, though perhaps not so anymore, despised any activity that involved mussing her appearance. Sure, it seemed pretentious, and well, yes it was. So what if she felt that she was better than everyone else? It was a right she was entitled to from birth, and she wasn't going to let anyone try to tell her otherwise. Even if that meant that she had to put up with Draco's frivolous interests with the vulgar sport. As far as she was concerned, Quidditch was just some physical education program that students used to help evolve as witches and wizards - reflexes and strategy, just an extra-curricular activity to get the mind flowing. So long as she saw it that way, she knew that she didn't have to worry about silly flying antics getting in the way between her future as a Malfoy.

Determination glowing in her dark eyes, Pansy eyed Harry Potter's locker in the musky room and forced it open with a quick flick of her wand. Inside it was exactly what she was hoping to find – his broom. That foolish Gryffindor, so trusting that someone wasn't going to try to find _some_ way to meddle with his affairs! It was all too easy! The plan was simple: bewitch the broom to respond precisely to Potter's objectives so that he would have no doubts about using it for the Gryffindor-Slytherin bout in early November. Then, at exactly ten minutes into the match, the broom's behaviour would change to now do the very opposite to what it was commanded. Up is down, left is right, and forward is backward! By the end of the game, Potter would look like an incompetent fool and Draco would get all the glory, capturing the snitch and winning his first game against Harry Potter. It was fool proof, and after the commotion of the celebratory after-party, she would confide with him what she did, and he would respect her even more.

Conjuring up all her memories of her incomplete seventh year N.E.W.T. lessons, Pansy closed her eyes to concentrate and keep her hands from shaking. She had one chance to get this right, and she also had to conceal the charm so that nobody would realise until the last possible moment. Moving her hand in a vertical motion, followed by a twist of her wand, she cast a hurling hex, inspired by her first year at Hogwarts when Potter first fell off of his broom – the result had been quite dramatic. On top of that she attempted a modified version of the _Confundus _charm, one that would hopefully cause the broom to be befuddled instead of the rider. Next, a _Tempus_ charm shot from her wand and wrapped itself around the broom, Pansy concentrating hard on exactly when the charm would break to reveal the others underneath it for it to properly work, and finally, she cast a layer of magic over the others to mask all traces of bewitchment.

_I am definitely getting an 'O' in Charms this year, won't my mother be proud!_

After ensuring that the broom was as she wanted it, she made sure to close the locker carefully, removing any trace that it had been forcefully opened without consent. She then scoured the room for any evidence of her little visit. Deciding that there was no chance anything could be linked back to her, she exited the pavilion-like room with a devilish grin on her face, the kind that was always associated with a Slytherin.


	9. Expelliarmus!

_Chapter Nine - Expelliarmus!_

* * *

"Blimey, its cold." Ron shuddered as he struggled to adjust his cloak.

"You can say that again," Harry muttered. "You'd think that Hogwarts has never heard of central heating before."

Hermione shushed them both, "We're in the library, and you need to be quiet. You're distracting me."

Ron and Harry quietly exchanged looks. "Not my fault it's so bloody cold in here. I can't even write, my hands are so cold," Ron complained and nodded towards his hands. They were tensed up tightly around his quill, and his fingertips had a slight tinge of blue under his nails.

The days were going along quickly, filled with endless hours of note taking, studying and essay writing. It was only their fourth week back, October fast upon them, and Harry already felt as though his fingers were about to drop off from overuse. He was sitting in the library with a small group of friends attempting to bluff his way through a particularly difficult essay on how to identify transfigured items. The fact that McGonagall had called for twenty-five inches of parchment made it all the more difficult.

Distressed, Harry looked up from his sheet, noting that his handwriting was nearly illegible and sloping all over the page. He had only managed to write ten measly lines before he hit a wall. Luna looked up from her own work as Harry tried to stifle an anxious groan, kneading his hands in his hair for lack of anything better to do. He saw that she was more than halfway through her length of parchment without so much as looking up at a book. He could hardly believe her diligence. They had been there for a little under an hour, and even Hermione was cross-referencing like a madwoman, her paper decidedly untouched in comparison. Well, Luna was a _Ravenclaw,_ after all. Perhaps it was one of the requirements of the Sorting Hat that Ravenclaws also have a fiendishly brilliant memory to accompany their natural intellects and curiosities.

"You okay, Harry?" Luna's shrill voice carried across the desk and Harry snapped from his thoughts and back into those surrounding the library.

"Yeah I'm fine," he lied, hoping that maybe he could stall for some time before he'd have to return to that relentless essay. Luna peered over from her side of the desk and frowned.

"Transfigured objects leave a kind of shadow around them once they have been magically changed, so it's easy if you look hard enough-" Luna read Harry's work out loud for all to hear, but was stopped abruptly when half a dozen other heads flicked up from their quills, strange looks on their faces.

"Harry, is that what you've written?" The first voice to break the silence was Hermione's, her expression raw with astonishment from what she had just heard.

Harry tried to cover up his embarrassment, but the effort backfired horribly. "Luna's the one who read it, why do you think I wrote that? Look, she's on the other side of the desk. How could she even be able to read my work from over here?"

"Harry, I'm well practised at reading upside-down," Luna giggled airily, unfazed by the attention, "and I didn't even need to pull out my Spectrespecs, even with that horrible handwriting."

"You still have those?" Neville piped up from Luna's immediate right.

"Of course, Neville. You've no idea how many times they've saved me from walking into a swarm of Wrackspurts."

The group shared a chuckle before Hermione chimed in once more. "Seriously though, that's what you're writing for your _N.E.W.T._ level essay? Harry?"

"It's just a draft… I couldn't think of what to say." Harry tried his best to stop the haze of warmth from flushing his face in embarrassment.

"Even Ron has written more than you, and with a greater amount of detail. _Correct_ detail, I might add." Ron looked up at Hermione and gave her an appreciative smile, before turning to face Harry's eyes set hard against his. The poor boy was sandwiched between the two, and he chose to simply remain silent.

"What's wrong with what I've written?" Harry demanded, his voice firm.

Neville opened his mouth again to offer some advice. "It's more of an aura than a shadow, and it's called a signature, Harry."

"And you can't just _look_, your eyes need special training, and there are a bunch of spells too," Seamus added.

"Great, I guess I'll just restart then." Harry's mind was heavy with frustration, not only at the work, but also at the fact that people other than just Hermione were reprimanding him. He could deal with her, they had been though a lot together and he felt that he understood her insecurities of never being good enough, but the others – they were only just as good as him. They had no right to be lecturing him on subjects that they wouldn't even get an Exceeds Expectations in. At least Ron had the decency to keep his mouth shut. "Can I borrow someone's book, then?"

There were a few sorry looks on some faces, and then everyone turned back to their work. Harry had decided to leave his own book back in his trunk, considering that there were going to be seven others there with a copy. Unfortunately that wasn't the case. Ron was sharing Hermione's book, but could only glance at it every once in a while when she wasn't furiously turning pages (Harry suspected that she must have cast some charm on the book to keep it from falling apart), Neville was sharing with Ginny, Seamus with Dean, and Luna hadn't bothered to bring hers – she obviously didn't need it.

It was apparent then that any moment longer he spent there in the library – a room that, ironically, was full of all sorts of books except the one that he actually needed – would be a moment wasted. "Fine," he stood up and gathered his quill, inkpot and parchment from the desk and into a small bag. "I can see where I'm not wanted."

"Harry, that's not what we meant!" Hermione whispered hurriedly.

"Well, I'm not going to get any work done here. Guess I'll go up to my room and do this blasted essay up there."

"_Harry_!"

Before anyone could stop him, Harry was already halfway to the door. He walked as quickly as he could, hoping they hadn't noticed his informed decision was actually a temper tantrum. He tried telling himself that he was simply leaving because he couldn't work without a book, but the hot emotions in his head bubbled away and said otherwise, that his friends were betraying him and he had a sudden urge to be alone.

"Harry, wait!" his ears picked up Ginny's voice behind him. He was outside of the library now and had already started down the corridor, but her call stopped him in surprise.

"What is it, Gin?" he asked cautiously, turning to look at her.

"Don't listen to Hermione, you know how she is." Ginny shifted her weight and held one arm with the other. She looked nervous, out of place, for some reason.

"I know that. I just really need to get this stupid thing out of the way, and I wasn't achieving much in there." Harry wasn't sure if the reassuring voice was meant for Ginny or himself.

"Well, do you need some help? I could come and help you… if you want."

He suddenly realised why she was acting so nervously. Harry had thought that everything was slowly slotting back into place between them, but they really hadn't spent any time together at all. Especially not alone. Really, the only times that Ginny had actually approached Harry was after Quidditch practise. She seemed to be much more confident after a long slog up in the air, and even more so if the day was particularly windy. Other than that, they retreated to opposite sides of classrooms, desks and dining tables.

Harry pondered what she had really meant behind her words, but decided that whatever it was was too complicated, and his need to be alone was too strong. It was almost laughable, that for as long as he could remember he had been relying on his friends, but now he couldn't stand to be around them for too long before they did something to bother him and make him want to quickly and quietly fade away. Harry made an effort to produce an innocent smile and tried to let Ginny down lightly.

"Sorry Gin, but I don't really study well with others. You saw the shambles in there. I'll go back and have a read of my book tonight, hopefully that will help." Before she could answer, Harry had already turned the corner in the corridor. Afraid that Ginny might come after him, he quickened his pace into a half walk-half jog.

When Harry was nearly at the Gryffindor Common room he slowed to catch his breath while he approached a corner to come around to the Swivelling Staircase. He didn't usually bother with this route because how fast anyone got through was all dependent on chance, but for some reason Harry decided to go the long way in an attempt to throw off whoever might be secretly following him. He knew far before that point that Ginny wasn't going to come running after him, but he indulged himself in the idea that someone might care enough to.

Once his lungs were full with cool, fresh oxygen, Harry straightened up and began a more relaxed amble around the corner leading to the stairs – right into none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Watch it!" he heard the Slytherin scold as Harry collided into him, their heads smacking into each other painfully. Malfoy rubbed the side of his head angrily. "I ought to dock points for this. Headbutting your Head Boy! Ten points from-" then he noticed who the perpetrator was. "Gryffindor!"

In the commotion, Harry's inkpot had somehow bounced out of the top of his bag and smashed, the jar lying cracked upon the stone floor as the black substance threatened to stain it. He was muttering half-hearted apologies while he fumbled for his wand, casting an obliteration charm on the scattered glass instead of simply repairing it. It wasn't like he could scoop up the ink from the sodden ground and put it back in there anyway. Hermione would have had a spell for it, but Harry didn't care. Once the glass disappeared, he muttered _Tergeo_, relief striking him as the ink slicked out of the pores of the stone floor, so he could _Scourgify_ it away. It wasn't until he was satisfied Filch wouldn't notice the apparent vandalism when he saw a pair of shiny shoes on the floor. He traced the shoes upwards; black trousers covered by the trail of a black cloak… green tie… self-satisfied smirk.

"Malfoy! What are you doing here?" Harry rubbed at his scar, even though he had hit the other side of his head entirely.

"I could ask you the same question," he sneered. "It's your own fault I had to take points."

"Points? What?"

Malfoy dropped his hand to rest indignantly on his side. "Did your brain fall out when you so rudely walked into me? Do you remember what a _Prefect_ is, Potter? _Hmm_? Well, I'm the crème de la crème of Prefects… Head Boy." He straightened his tie and smiled coyly.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Harry could hardly bring himself to mumble any more than that. The words 'Head Boy' only made him think of Percy Weasley and his incessant drivel, which soon ended up being sensationalist brown-nosing for the wrong team. Even though he had apologised and switched sides again, Harry didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was lurking the halls _above ground_ on a Friday evening, which was something different to say the least. He always thought that Slytherins were more like cave dwelling goblins, never coming up into the light unless they had to.

"So where are your little friends, 'eh, Potter?" Malfoy asked in lazy conversation.

"Library. I forgot my book, so I figured there was no point."

"Maybe you should take more care to remember your things instead of scurrying around the castle, wasting time and head-butting your superiors."

"What's that supposed to mean, Malfoy?"

"You're awfully busy, or at least you seem to be. Too busy to indulge me in a duel, perhaps?"

Harry knew at once what Malfoy was playing at. It was true, Harry had been kept feverishly busy with assessments and Quidditch, and he indulged himself in his spare time as best as he could. There was just no way that he was going to voluntarily put himself through the grief of spending time with Malfoy if he didn't have to, even if it meant that he could vent some frustration out on him and maybe even cause some embarrassment to the snide Slytherin. At worst it would damage his pride, but there wouldn't be anyone about to see him humiliated, and that was the only way to get through his thick skin. On top of everything, Harry had no inklings to play teacher when he was so busy 'learning', and had simply forgotten about the whole matter.

"Potter?" The word came as less of a question than a statement.

"Um, I'm kind of busy now Malfoy."

"I'm sure, what with your gallivanting on the opposite side of the castle to Gryffindor Tower."

"What do you- how do you know where the tower is?" Harry stammered.

Malfoy tapped at a silver badge that peeked through his cloak. "Head Boy," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Yeah well, I was trying to lose a tail." He checked behind him as he said so, unsure of whether he himself was actually buying into the charade.

Malfoy looked confused. "Lose your tail? I never knew you were a monkey."

"No, someone was tailing me… you know… following."

Malfoy glanced over Harry's shoulder and down the corridor as well. "I knew that you idiot. Well, I don't see anyone," he scoffed.

"Guess it worked."

The two stood there in silence for a few moments, Malfoy eyeing Harry with a vicious stare, as if he was trying to smuggle some repulsive illicit item onto the grounds and Malfoy was itching to turn him in to Filch.

"Well," he started, just as Harry made another attempt to leave, "seeing as you have successfully averted your tail, you might as well indulge me in a duel. You owe me for the lump that will no doubt appear on my head in the morning. I'll have to come up with some excuse too. Such a hassle."

"Oh lay off it, Malfoy," Harry spat as he tried to stare down a pair of calm grey eyes.

"Don't make me give you detention," Malfoy's lips curled into a haughty smile.

At this point Harry deflated, knowing that he had lost. "Fine," he grumbled, then pushed past into the chamber with the Swivelling Staircase. Malfoy darted behind him and stepped onto the foot of a set of stairs that had just begun to shift.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy shot, his voice wobbly as he leaned over to grip the railing when the stairs lurched.

"Sixth floor."

Malfoy deadpanned. "You don't mean…"

"There's an empty classroom that isn't used. It only has one window, and it's big enough that you won't crack your head on the wall when you go flying."

"_Me_? What makes you so sure you could knock me down?" the look of fear dissolved as his arrogant ego took over.

"You'll see," Harry snickered to himself. Maybe this was a good way to vent after all.

* * *

They reached the classroom without a hitch; though Harry was sure Malfoy almost lost his dinner on the stairs at least twice. He teased him about it, only to receive a backlash of angry comments – something about the whole idea of magical stairs being a complete waste of space. It had taken some time, but eventually the stairs moved into the place that they were aiming for. If Harry hadn't known better, he'd have guessed the stairs were practical jokers, taking them in every direction possible before alighting at the correct position.

"Finally," Malfoy breathed, still tetchy from the ride. Harry watched him brush the creases out of his clothes. "It would have taken far less time and _effort_ had we gone round and taken the normal stairs – the kind that don't move."

"Where's the fun in that?" Harry was enjoying rubbing Malfoy the wrong way. They walked down the corridor a few paces and found the empty classroom in question. Malfoy pushed in first, and Harry shut the door carefully and locked it once they were inside. After that, he cast a silencing charm at the door, followed by one at the window… just to be sure.

"Nervous to be alone with me, Potter?" Malfoy's voice returned to his natural mocking sneer.

"Not when you've already admitted that I could beat you hands down in any duel."

With that Malfoy dropped his cloak in a corner and drew his wand. Harry did the same, placing his bag containing the quill and parchment on top of the lump of black material.

"I did no such thing," Malfoy spat.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Then why are we here?" When he received no answer, he walked to the centre of the room, goading his opponent to do the same. "Bow."

"I know well enough how to bloody duel!" The retort was venomous, and Malfoy looked as if he were about to blow Harry's head off.

"Fine. I was just trying to show some respect. Clearly you don't need any of that."

Harry turned and walked to his side of the room and turned to face the centre. Malfoy hadn't moved from where he was standing, and his wand was now shooting small golden sparks from the tip. The sight alarmed Harry, as he had only ever seen that happen with new magic users without full control of their powers. The fact that such words would cause so much anger was astonishing, considering how calm and collected Malfoy usually was. He was probably just used to getting his own way, and when he didn't he'd throw a temper tantrum like a young child. Or so Harry suspected, anyway.

Harry opened his mouth to speak when a silent blue sliver of light rushed towards him. He just barely managed to cast a defensive charm in time when another flash of light came at him. On and on, Malfoy sent a vibrant array of hexes at Harry. He managed to successfully deflect each and every one, but the constant barrage prevented him from sending any casts in return. Within a couple of minutes he was sure he had countered more than a hundred spells. His heart was beating heavily against his chest and sweat was beading at his brows.

The curses, hexes and jinxes kept coming, but in time they slowed to a more orderly pace. At first it seemed Malfoy had been slinging any spell that came to his head, some so quickly in transition that they seemed to be paired off, but soon Malfoy paused with each flick of his wand, and the incantations that came with it. Despite the great variety in spells, there were very few verbal incantations, and the room was mostly silent bar the crashing of spells against stone. Even though he was tired, Harry's mind was still reeling and rearing to go, and he kept his eyes and ears alert as he waited for an opening…

"_Expelliarmus_!" He cried, and a red jet of light soared between two other spells that were flying towards him. By the time he had deflected them the commotion had stopped.

Malfoy dropped to his knees in the middle of the empty classroom, his hands holding his body up as he panted and gasped for air. His wand was lying in the far corner of the room. It was only then that Harry noticed how exhausting the whole ordeal had been for the blonde man, and droplets fell from his sweat-covered face to the ground, leaving behind small wet circles that soaked into the concrete floor.

"Damn it. That damned spell!" Malfoy muttered to himself, the sound barely making it to Harry's ears.

"What?" Harry asked with a heaving breath of his own.

"I hate that spell!" came the reply in a strangled scream.

Harry took a few cautious steps forward then tucked his wand in his trouser pocket and held out his arms. He willed his voice steady, careful to not cause another uncontrolled outburst from Malfoy. "What was I supposed to do? You could have killed yourself from exhaustion, if you didn't kill me first."

"Did you have to use _that spell_?"

Harry folded his open arms hastily across his chest and gave Malfoy the firmest stare he could muster. "You should know by now that it's the first thing that comes to my mind. It's pretty useful, really. Stops you from casting, without doing any damage."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You're a bloody hero," Malfoy spat with disgust.

"Would you rather be incapacitated another way? Want me to knock you out with a Stunning spell? Crack your head open when you collapse from a Jelly Legs jinx? How about I petrify you, then _kick your nose in_?" Harry stopped himself when he realised he had been shouting.

In quick response, Malfoy pulled himself to full height once more and took a few jerky steps towards Harry, his face bubbling over once more with anger. "I said I get it! You're such a little goody-goody that you can't bear to have a little rough-and-tumble! Even when your opponent is trying to kill you!"

Harry wasn't expecting that. His building ire fizzed away completely, and his voice suddenly wasn't able to shout or yell or scream. All he could do was stammer a barely coherent, "_what_?"

"So I guess this means you own my other wand now, doesn't it? Or should I say my mother's wand! How does it feel, Potter, to own two Malfoys in the only way that matters?"

"What? What are you going on about?"

"My wand! You foolish git, you disarmed me of my wand!"

"Oh." It dawned on Harry then why Malfoy was so ridiculously furious at having lost the duel. He'd thought that he'd lost his only means to magic. "It doesn't work that way, you know."

"What doesn't work that way?" Malfoy was still raging.

"Come on, Malfoy, think! When have you ever seen any other students running around the school holding wands as trophies? It doesn't work that way."

The Slytherin looked confused, the emotion mixing around his face with the still very prominent anger. "What are you going on about?"

Harry sighed. "I can't take your wand if we're just in a friendly duel. It has to really mean something for the ancient magic to kick in."

"And since when was this a _'friendly' duel_? I sure as hell meant it."

"It's still the same thing. I went in here with no intent of killing you or taking your wand, and I hope the same goes for you. So that means I don't actually have any jurisdiction over your mother's wand. Go. See for yourself."

He pulled out his wand once more and waved a _Lumos_ towards the dark stick in the corner of the room, and watched as Malfoy made a mad scramble for it. Pale fingers plucked it from the ground and cold, grey eyes joined them in a thorough inspection. The fingers then turned the wand and cast a quick _Lumos_, which illuminated that section of the room with ease. He then cast a few other simple spells, levitating a piece of crumbled brick, and then fixing it back to the dip in the wall that it had sprung from. Confident that he had control over the wand, he cast one more spell, this time at an unsuspecting Harry.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Harry's wand flew out of his lax grip, ricocheting off of the ceiling before it came to rest a few metres from where he was standing.

"I guess that spell is pretty useful." Malfoy muttered.

"Very funny." Harry stepped down to pick up his own wand from the ground.

"Now we're even." A smug grin appeared upon Malfoy's mouth and he folded his arms as he now inspected the room. "Interesting how, for someone so utterly uninformed about life as a wizard, you seem to know so much about wand magic."

Harry shrugged. "I guess I learned what was essential for me to survive."

"Yes, but you'll be needing to know a lot more than just wands if you wish to make it after Hogwarts."

"I think I'll be okay."

"Sure," Malfoy gave a sarcastic nod. "And how is it that you barely seem to have broken a sweat? I thought I'd given you a tougher time than that."

Harry rubbed his forearm against his brow and looked to see that he had left a damp patch on his sleeve. While this had been a workout, Malfoy had practically started shivering after his blood started to cool.

"Malfoy," he began, "you have absolutely no idea how many duels I've been in, real and practise. If I couldn't have withstood against you for a few minutes, I'd have died years ago."

"Next time, though, it might be more interesting if you actually fought back."

"Since when did I say there was going to be a 'next time'?"

"You didn't. I did."

"Whatever. I guess that means you're not satisfied with me just kicking your ass on the Quidditch field," Harry muttered only just loud enough for Malfoy to hear him clearly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." This time was Harry's turn for a coy grin, but it was different to the Slytherin's. For one, Harry had turned in the opposite direction, collecting his gear from the floor, and was smiling to himself.

"We'll just see about that-" Harry knew that Malfoy would have moved to raise his wand.

"No we won't. Not tonight, anyway." When he turned, he was met with exactly what he had suspected: Malfoy perched with his weight mostly on one leg, his arm out, about to spell off a curse. He gingerly looked down at the gold watch that was dangling from his cloak, "Its quarter to eight. Madam Pince should be tossing my friends out of the library by now, and they'll worry if I'm not where I said I'd be." He gave a dramatic sigh, "and then I'd have to tell them where I was. Hermione would be horrified, of course. Then she and Ron would follow me everywhere, just to make sure you don't get a chance to cast a Killing curse at me. And then there'd be no chance at all for you to get any practise in-"

"I get it! By Salazar himself, you talk too much." Malfoy lowered his wand.

"I appreciate your understanding. Otherwise, I'd spell that ghastly smirk right off of your proud face."

Harry took no moment's hesitation to open the door and dart out right after the words left his lips. Another grin exposed itself on his face as he ran down the corridor and to the nearest set of stairs. This time, for sure, he knew that someone would come running after him. The thrill of the chase had allowed him to let out a gleeful cry, as Harry turned another corner and bolted up the stairs. Once he had made it to the portrait of the Fat Lady, he was sure that he would no longer be pursued, and allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts as he breathed the password to the Gryffindor common room.

"Rosewood," he said, as the portrait slid open for him to step through. It was silly, really, how Professor Rosewood had insisted on making her name the password, but she reasoned that this way the Gryffindor students would have no opportunity to forget their head of house. He decided that she had probably guessed that no students from any other house would care to mention her; though her teaching methods were interesting, she was hardly memorable in the ways that previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers had been. She wasn't a celebrity, evil, or scary; she was just a normal teacher with a quirky wardrobe. The Gryffindors certainly liked her though, Hermione was pleased that the curriculum was being properly followed, whilst the others, Harry included, were glad to get a chance to practise some real magic.

He made his way through the open room of armchairs and sofas and up the stairs that lead to his room. He had only just unpacked his book and gotten comfortable on the bed when his fellow Gryffindors stepped into the room, frowning when they caught him there.

"Really, mate," Ron prodded as he walked up and noticed that there were no additions to what Harry had written before. "If you really need help, you know Hermione caves in easily. I can't believe you haven't written anything in an hour!"

"I've had my mind on other things," Harry shrugged, trying to suppress a smile while he remembered the devilish glee he had felt from insulting Malfoy so thoroughly – something that he had only just composed himself from.

"Yeah, I'll bet! Is it because of Ginny?"

"What?" Harry snapped out of his daze.

"Blimey, you sure seem out of it lately. Always staring off into space. Does she really get to you that bad?"

"Who?"

Ron sat on his own bed, facing Harry. "_Ginny_. She's done a real number on you."

"No she hasn't," Harry protested.

"I think she has. Its alright-"

Harry interrupted him. "Ron, I haven't had my brain melted by a girl."

"Yeah well, something has."

"Something's what?"

"See! Something's melted your brain!"

"I've just got a lot on my mind. You know, with N.E.W.T.s and Quidditch. I didn't think everything would be so hard to manage." Harry reasoned to himself that this excuse was at least mostly true. "Heck, defeating the wizard nemesis of Britain was easier than this!"

Ron fell backwards into his bed and laughed, joined shortly by some breathy chuckles from Harry and the others. Though they hadn't been a part of the conversation, Harry and Ron were certainly loud enough in the small room for them to hear everything.

"Well hopefully you'll be spending less time fighting and more time writing," Seamus said after the laughter died down.

"Hey Seamus, that rhymes! You're a poet!" Dean exclaimed.

"So I am!" Seamus beamed.

"So you are! Tell us another one!" Neville chimed in.

The rest of the night was spent with bad poetry and girlish giggles, until it was time for lights out and they all scrambled to get ready for bed. The essay was left untouched for the time being.

_Less time fighting_, Harry thought as he lay in bed, a little while after everyone else had drifted off to sleep. _We'll see about that._


	10. The Cursed Broom

_Chapter Ten - The Cursed Broom_

* * *

Another week passed and the term was now well and truly into October, and with it came a flurry of anticipation for the Quidditch tournament that would begin in only three weeks. Determined to have his team prepared and itching to go for their first big bout, Harry had scheduled more practise sessions to get his new flyers up to an acceptable standard. He found soon enough that the extensive training wasn't so much necessary for them as it was for him. They had all been quite skilled at flying from the start, and funnily enough, Harry was the only one who hadn't had any adequate flying experience in the past year or so.

Despite Harry's moods, Ron and Ginny had still taken advantage of the time during the lull in activity over their extended holidays to play two-a-side in their orchard with whoever they could find – they even had a go at teaching Hermione the basics of ducking and weaving on a broom. The other team members had magical brooms at home, and some had joined flying hobbyist clubs in their spare time. Meanwhile, Harry's last time in the sky before taking up Captaincy once more was something that he didn't feel comfortable sharing with others. Though muffled in his head by time, he could remember the sounds of flames devouring the contents of the Room of Hidden Things, possessions exploding like popcorn and imitating that sound, screams from friends and foes, shouts of his own voice…

Harry willed himself back to reality and called his teammates back to the ground, panting a little from the combination of frigid air and exercise. It felt good to be back in the air after so long and doing what came so naturally to him. He loved how it felt to natural for Harry to be back on a broomstick, especially considering how every other minute task seemed so difficult to bear. The thrill of the ride was so exhilarating that for the first time in a long time he allowed himself to let go. The day was fine, Harry felt pleasantly tired, training went well, and he was pleased with his team. Ron was fast becoming more and more confident in himself. Ginny, Dean, and Demelza were amazing on their brooms, Harry admitted, and he was sure that if they actually cared for straining their eyes to find the tiny gold ball Harry loved, they could easily give him a run for his money.

He grinned, knowing that his position was so well kept. Being a seeker allowed him to fly where he pleased with the air rushing past his ears as the game played around him, almost as if in slow motion. It was like background noise, and he didn't really have to put too much attention towards the game if he pleased, and for the most part nothing at all mattered and he could feel as if he were a million miles away.

Today's match was a little different though, and no matter how hard he tried to simply fly around and get a feel for the pitch, as he usually did, he managed to catch the snitch at least five times. For a two hour training session, this was, admittedly, a record for Harry, but something felt a little off. It was as if he happened to be at the right place at the right time, but it didn't feel like the ball was making things easy. It actually seemed more like the broom he was riding was _guiding_ him to the snitch, time and time again.

He'd never experienced this before, so he wasn't quite sure if that was the case or if he'd just had an extremely lucky go for the day – _a-la Felix_ – but he definitely suspected that something was interfering. Sure, it was good that he kept finding the snitch after only a few minutes of searching once it was released, but the thrill of the chase wasn't there anymore, and by the time he called for the practise to finish he was actually a little bored. It also took away time that he used to watch the team and shout suggestions, and instead they spent more time watching him zip around after the fleck of gold in the sky.

"Good work everyone, just three more weeks and then we can show the school just how great you are." He addressed his team as he always did, huddled together just off of the pitch.

Everyone cheered by raising their fists to the air, and then scattered. They were all headed to the change rooms, but it always seemed as though each person had their own special way of getting there. As usual, Ginny waited up for Harry, sandwiching him between her and Ron as they took their time to stroll across the grounds.

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked as he joined Harry's side.

"Huh?" Harry was still trying to push back old memories, but was having a hard time doing so.

"You were a bit wobbly up there today. I don't think anyone else noticed, but I doubt anyone else really knows how you fly, not like I do." Ron's expression was a bit sour as he spoke.

"Uh, yeah," Harry lifted an arm behind his head and ran a hand through his unruly black hair. "I don't know, really. Seems like the broom had a mind of its own. I fought it for a bit, but when I let it do its own thing, it sort of… flew me straight to the snitch."

Ginny gave a gasp and Ron's sour expression flopped as he thought. "The broom… flew you to the snitch?"

"Yeah, strange isn't it?"

"Sounds like cheating to me."

Harry nodded in agreement and stopped to ponder himself. His companions had already continued for a few paces before realising they had left Harry behind. Ron turned and let Ginny go back to Harry and take his hand.

"It'll be okay, Harry. We'll ask Hermione if she knows anything," she said reassuringly.

"But Hermione doesn't know anything about Quidditch. That's probably the only thing in the world that she doesn't care to learn about."

"Don't tell her you said that!" Ron called from a few paces beyond them.

Harry chuckled smiled back at Ron. Turning back to Ginny, he agreed that even if Hermione didn't know much about Quidditch, she was still the best person they knew to turn to for this sort of thing. He always thought of her as a private detective poring over book after book until at last she exhaustively declared the answer to whatever riddle she was given. Though he would never understand what exactly drove Hermione to such heights of perfection, he certainly couldn't fault her methods.

* * *

Harry was right to trust his friends as he did, feeling instantly reassured the moment he handed the broom to Hermione, who stared at it with puzzled anticipation. With a flick of her wrist, Hermione's wand produced a fine white mist that wrapped itself over the broom delicately, and then turned the whole thing a violent shade of green. She stifled a gasp.

"It's been bewitched, all right. I don't know what with, but judging by that awful green, I'd say it's something wretched." Hermione folded her arms as she studied the broom.

"But how can it be a bad thing? The broom was helping me!"

Harry didn't know what to think of the situation. It wasn't even his broom! He was borrowing it from the school, and he was sure that not even that many people knew. Only his team had the opportunity to see him near it, as Harry was still taking precautions and holding Quidditch practise at times when other students wouldn't be likely milling about the grounds and congregating around the pitch like some great Harry Potter fan club. It was hard enough dealing with the younger girls as he walked through the halls between classes.

Hermione's face relaxed from her concentrating stare, but a stern look remained. "Regardless of what it was doing, the fact that you're flying a broom that has been… modified… is not something to take lightly. You have to remember who you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He understood what she was getting at, but Harry still wanted to hear Hermione use her own words.

"Harry, you're probably the most keenly watched person in this school, by students, teachers, and even the general public by way of the news! Everyone knows the good that you've done, but there are still some people who would rather you dropped dead." Her voice faltered at the last word.

"Like who?" Harry pointed towards the sky above them, hinting at the way it shimmered in vibrant hues, like a perpetual rainbow. "Didn't Flitwick cast some charm that's keeping tabs on everyone in the school? If someone were out to get me, they'd have to breach the barrier. It's hardly likely a Death Eater can come strolling through the front gate!"

His eyes met three frowns, as Ron and Ginny gawked at him. Hermione shrugged and let out a sigh.

"What?" Harry asked, clearly not getting what there were hinting at.

"There _is_ a Death Eater in Hogwarts." It was Ron who managed to pull his words together first.

Harry's eyes widened. "Malfoy? Surely not…" He furrowed his brows to think for a moment, as the four stood in silence under the shade of a tree, not too far off from the front of the castle.

Harry's mind raced at the thought of Malfoy cursing his broom. Didn't he claim to be a changed person, trying to find some sort of renewed status in the wizarding world? But then again, maybe this was payback for the whole disarming incident last week. Surely, Harry had thought that Malfoy was better than stooping so low for a bit of revenge, but then again, he wasn't a Gryffindor… Malfoy was a conniving Slytherin.

"It makes sense," Hermione said softly. "After all, he's a seeker too. He thinks just like Harry, and he knows what might throw him off guard."

"Really, Hermione? Leading me _to_ the snitch? You'd think he'd do the opposite!"

"It might be some sort of mind game, making you think you're doing the right thing. Then, when you're in the actual match, the broom starts to act strange, but you don't think anything of it!" She seemed pleased at her conclusion.

"I still don't see-"

"He knows where the change rooms are too!" This time Ron joined the musing. "Gryffindor's tent is right on the way to Slytherin's. He'd only need a minute to slip in. Nobody would notice."

"Yes but-"

"He laughed at you about losing your Firebolt! Half of Slytherin thinks he managed to _claim_ it from you as payback for taking his wand. Everyone knows he hates your guts, Harry." Ginny added. "It has to have been him."

Harry was shocked at the last pronouncement. This was exactly why he hadn't told anyone about Malfoy in the first place. He knew exactly what they would say, and he was right in thinking so. But then again, what if Malfoy had anticipated this, and then decided it use it to his advantage? He would have known that Harry wouldn't say anything. At this point, speculation didn't mean anything. He had to ask the man himself.

"It could have been some girl from try-outs leaving me a 'gift'," Harry suggested, trying to change the topic. "Maybe after all of the boxes of chocolates I've been getting one of them thought to stand out and do something different."

"It's possible," said Ginny. "You did show them the change rooms. But I don't think any of them would be capable of higher level magic like this."

"You know guys, to be perfectly fair, the change rooms aren't exactly difficult to find," Harry reminded them. "Especially if you've been to a Quidditch game before. They're just over the hill from the pitch. It could have been anyone."

"That's true Harry," said Hermione, "but wasn't it you who always suspected Draco Malfoy of being a Death Eater when no-one else believed you? Now that we know it's true, we're on your side."

Keen to stop the current conversation, Harry looked down at his feet and shrugged. He friends took it as a begrudged acceptance of what to them was clearly fact. Hermione reached to place a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I was just trying to explore all options like you would, Hermione."

"I know, Harry. I'll see what I can about the broom," she said. "If I find out anything, you'll be the first to know. Until then, you won't be flying on it."

Harry shrugged again, and was reassured that he would be able to ask to borrow another broom, but it wasn't that easy. Harry didn't want to have to tell Madam Hooch that his broom had been cursed, and ask if he could please have a new one. She would march him straight to McGonagall, who would then be convinced, too, that Malfoy was the culprit. Then what would Harry be able to do? He thought back to their conversations in the train and dungeons. Malfoy had seemed to be having some sort of personal struggle, like he was still trying to figure out who he was supposed to be, and Harry wanted to help him. He still didn't know why, exactly, but after their so-called 'duel' the week before, he knew that there was something really troubling the Slytherin. And now his broom was cursed, and he didn't know what to think anymore.

* * *

"Alright everyone, I'm off."

Ginny gathered her books and parchment together from the desk in the common room and placed them in a neat pile, deciding that they were safe enough to be left alone for a couple hours, when she would return to her Potions essay after making her nightly rounds of the school. Being Head Girl was certainly more exhausting than Percy had made it out to be, and she often found herself in some sort of juggling act, struggling to keep up with all of her responsibilities on top of trying to achieve eight N.E.W.T.s, and play as a Gryffindor team Chaser.

Regardless, she kept trying, and felt that all of her hard work was beginning to pay off. Teachers were paying her more respect, her parents were proud, and she knew that this would all do well for her future too. Living in a tiny house filled to the brim with rowdy boys was something that Ginny only put up with grudgingly. She knew that when she got out of Hogwarts she wanted to make her own mark on the world and live a life of quiet comfort. Though she knew that she wanted a family, she didn't want to have little feet running around any time in the too-near future, and she definitely only wanted one or two. Another thing, or rather person, that she knew she wanted was Harry.

Ginny frowned to herself as she remembered her royal blunder back in the car at the start of September. Every time she did, she wanted to scream. How could she have been so _stupid_! She knew that everything could have been ruined after her fight with Harry, and that she was so lucky that he was even still talking to her, but things had become stale between them now. Oh, what she would give for things to go back to how they were, and she could be resting against Harry's chest now, his arms around her body as they forgot about the world…

It was her fault that everything had gone so awry like it did, so Ginny supposed that it was up to her to fix everything. The only problem was that, knowing their history and remembering how bad that fight had made her feel, it would all be so much more difficult this time. She had only managed to gather up the courage to talk to Harry after Quidditch, when there weren't so many people around. She always thought that part of Harry's affliction with their relationship was his fear of everyone watching them, and that seemed to have rubbed off on her more recently. Despite all of her own worries, she still tried, and the fact that he let her was encouraging.

Ginny focused on something more positive as she stepped out of the portrait of the Fat Lady and began to track her path through her designated part of the castle. Gryffindors usually had free reign of the upper floors with the Ravenclaws while Slytherin and Hufflepuff Prefects looked after the lower ones, but sometimes they mixed it around to accommodate nights when some of the students stayed in to study. That night, however, was not tonight, and Ginny had an hour or so of patrolling the seventh floor, as well as the spires that lead to some classrooms, in front of her. All in all it was uneventful, but she was grateful for the alone time she had to herself and her thoughts.

After Ginny had circled the route four times she wiped her brow and decided that it was late enough to stop. Every evening when her duties were completed she went and freshened up before bed. Another advantage to being Head Girl was the password to the Prefect's bathroom, something that she would not give up willingly after discovering just how much of a privilege it really was. After heading back quickly to her House to gather some nightclothes, she made her way to the bathroom.

Her eyelashes fluttered in their usual manner as she pushed open the heavy door, inhaling the sickly sweet aroma that flooded her senses. She loved how the various different kinds of bubble bath wafted scents of flowers, sweets, and other wonderful things throughout the huge tiled room, and the moving stained glass windows that seemed to radiate with sunlight, even though it was now close to ten o'clock in the evening, made the place all the more dazzling.

She made her way to her usual corner with a large extravagant shower and settled down her things. As much as she loved the smells coming from the bath, she was too nervous about how exposed she would be if she ever bathed in there, and even though this room was open to only Prefects and Quidditch Captains, that was still too high a number for her comfort. Maybe if Harry coaxed her in…

Ginny spun around, her thoughts halted at the sudden awareness that she was not alone. The room was large and boasted many little nooks for showers, giving the feel of real privacy when that luxury didn't exist in dormitory life, but she could always tell right away when there were other people in there with her. She must have really not been paying attention.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Ginny peered around her little alcove to try to find the source of conversation. Though the voices were warped by the acoustics of the bathroom, she was sure that she knew quite well at least one of the pair, going by sound alone. Creeping ever so slowly towards the centre of the room, she finally laid her eyes on the far corner to a large expanse shadowed by a pillar, right next to a door. Her eyes widened when she caught the view of scruffy black hair pacing back and forth. When the head moved out of view, it revealed a blonde face that was standing just beyond. Harry and Malfoy… how could she have missed them? More importantly, how could they have missed her?

Intrigued by her discovery, Ginny dropped her thoughts of a shower and tried to angle her way across the room to get a better spot to eavesdrop without being seen. This was easier said than done, though, because of the large tub that dominated the room. She had almost given in to an urge to jump in and duck behind a large mass of bubbles sitting on the surface, but that meant either getting her clothes very uncomfortably wet, or stripping down, which was equally uncomfortable given the circumstances if she was caught. Eventually she settled for skirting around the edge of the bath, trying to keep the pillar beyond between her and the two arguing gents, finally resting her back on it. However, she soon found that she hadn't needed to scoot much closer to listen in as they began shouting at each other.

"What do you mean, you have no idea what I'm talking about? This whole thing practically screams your name!" Harry was apparently frustrated.

"Flattered as I am for being the person to come to your mind, Potter, your insistence will not change the fact that I have done nothing against you since last week." Malfoy's voice was unnervingly calm, and Ginny hated how he used aristocracy as a weapon against what he would call 'common folk'.

Wait… last week? What happened last week between those two? The fact that Ginny couldn't place her finger on anything important meant that Harry hadn't told her, or at the very least Ron, who always filled her in. Was he covering something up?

"So would you care to explain why my broom is sitting in Hermione's room, green as your house colours?"

"I thought you lost your broom last year. Also, why would the fact that you left your broom in your girlfriend's room have anything to do with me?" Ginny couldn't see them, but she heard a definite sneer in the delivery of those words. She let out a scowl herself.

"She's not my girlfriend, she's Ron's!"

"Once again, not my problem what you do with Granger."

There was a pause, Harry was probably trying to calm himself down to talk coherently, and Ginny wasn't surprised. She too was feeling uncomfortably upset, and she was just a spectator to the scene.

"The _point_ is that she's trying to find out the curses that were placed on the broom! It turned green for some apparent reason, and my thoughts are that this is because of your twisted Slytherin sense of humour."

"Really? Well if it _was_ a Slytherin, there are others in this school than just me. Even though I do appreciate how you feel I'm the most important out of all of them."

"Just what sort of game are you trying to play at, Malfoy?" Harry's voice was quick and low, which reminded Ginny of Professor Snape and the way he used to talk down to students. "Bewitching my broom, right before the Quidditch match!"

"I didn't do it, you stupid, stupid git!" Malfoy's voice flooded the room, coming back in all directions as reverberations flew about in waves. Then, as suddenly as he had shouted, he was walking towards the door, and Ginny was so sure that if Malfoy had looked back even an inch, she would have been found out. Luckily, she wasn't spotted, and she let out a deep breath of air as Malfoy slammed the door shut – Ginny hadn't even realised that she was holding her breath, or for how long.

She began to relax a bit and leaned back into the pillar once more, before realising that Harry was still in the room with her. As happy as that thought should have made her – he always seemed to avoid using the Prefect's bathroom – there was a feeling deep beyond the pit of her stomach that was clawing at her from the inside. If he caught her spying now, that'd be it. She knew he had trust issues, and this would extinguish all hope for rekindling the fire that they once had, she was sure.

She craned her ears and listened hard for the sound of shoes squeaking on the tiles, and she knew Harry was pacing once again. She sat there in silence for as long as she dared, and after what seemed like an eternity, she watched Harry appear beyond the pillar and stomp out of the door. Like Malfoy, he didn't turn back to see the ginger haired girl sitting meekly against the column, barely ten metres away. With another sigh of relief, she closed her eyes and raised her hands to run them through her hair, trying to make sense of what she had just overheard.

* * *

Harry flopped onto his bed, his thoughts still running like mad after his argument with Malfoy. He was so confused and exhausted that he could have sworn his scar was starting to hurt. No… it was only a headache. He knew it had been a bad idea to track down the Slytherin, but he just had to know what was going on. Call it some stupid sense of Gryffindor pride, or perhaps it was a family attribute, but Harry always needed to know his place in things, and how everything slotted in around him. Perhaps that was why he was so angry with Dumbledore in his fourth year, and Snape… well, always.

Earlier that evening he had had enough of the chatter amongst his friends about the broom, and decided after dinner to fish out Malfoy's ring from his trouser pocket for the first time. He was awed at how it still glistened in the light as if newly polished, but it was probably some cleaning charm to blame. He had drawn his wand, and in careful strokes wrote out the words _"We need to talk. Prefect's Bathroom. 9:30"_. He remembered how the spell wrote the words in the air at first, and after careful inspection at the legibility, he had pressed his wand to the writing and it floated gracefully to fit on the small band on the inside of the ring. It was amazing, to say the least, and Harry appreciated Hermione and her ability to track down the most useful spells just a little bit more than usual.

Now looking at the ring, he could still see the words scrawled so perfectly that he would never have though it to be his own handwriting. With a wave of his wand the writing disappeared, and he shoved the ring into his pillowcase and out of sight, but not before considering sending the message "_Prat_" to the only receiver. He had gone to speak with Malfoy with the greatest of intentions, willing to hear out his case, but had ended up shouting the wild accusations his friends harboured instead. There was something about that stuck-up git that made Harry's blood boil, even at the best of times. Though he knew Ron and Hermione wouldn't have accepted Malfoy's claims of innocence, Harry couldn't see how he could refute it. After all, there were more people in the world than Draco Malfoy, and Harry had just started to learn to trust his gut feelings. What better time to start, than now? He just had to show his friends that. Besides, it wouldn't have been the first time he was given something bewitched with misplaced intentions.

"Hey," Ron muttered from his own pillow, noticing the appearance of Harry at last.

"Go back to sleep Ron. I didn't mean to wake you," Harry apologised, but his words were short as a consequence of his recent row.

"Where were you?"

"Bathroom."

Harry noticed a sleepy smile appear on his friend's face, as he tried to continue the conversation despite his incoherence. "Prefect's? I miss that place… smells nice in there..."

Harry smiled as Ron drifted back to sleep mid-sentence. He quickly undressed and hopped into his own bed, hoping that he would get enough sleep to have a clear mind for the day ahead.

* * *

"I don't believe it!" Hermione said with a harrumph. "And neither should you, Harry Potter."

"You weren't there, Hermione. He was actually offended at the accusation." Harry reasoned before taking a bite of his porridge.

"But he's Malfoy! He gets offended at snow falling on him! When has he ever done anything good for you?"

Harry stopped himself from mentioning their encounter at Malfoy Manor, knowing that it was a sore spot for his friend. He knew it was a foolish idea to confide Hermione in his thoughts that he truly didn't believe Malfoy was out to get him, but he had to tell someone, and it might as well be the one witch who could do just about anything… and maybe even believe Harry.

"Who says the whole broom thing was meant to be a bad omen?" he blurted, knowing that if he didn't say something soon, he would be assumed to have agreed with Hermione.

"Harry, the broom turned green."

"So?"

Hermione put down her fork and turned to get an eyeful of green that lay beyond his round glasses. She twitched slightly, probably at the idea of her friend having eyes that boasted the 'evil' colour so dazzlingly, which was an ironic twist in the scheme of things. "I had a look at a few books after I finished our Potions essay last night, and I think that there were a few spells concealed underneath a charm that makes the broom act with a mind of its own. I think that it might have been set to go off during your Quidditch match next month."

Harry nodded at the new information, but was sticking to his haunches and his belief that someone else was the culprit.

"So they wanted me to lose against Slytherin?" he asked.

"That's what I think, and how many times has Slytherin won when you've been playing? None. I think they wanted to make a fool out of you."

Harry turned towards the Slytherin table in the Great Hall. It was fairly full at this time of morning, and he had to rake through the mass of bodies to find Malfoy, who was seated with his cronies somewhere near one end of the table. Malfoy was eating, though with much more distinction than Goyle, who had conveniently seemed to have forgotten what cutlery was. Zabini and Nott sat across from him, laughing feverishly at something Malfoy had just said, and Pansy Parkinson was obviously trying to sprawl her arms around his body, and obviously failing. No wonder he was such an airhead, his friends treated him like a spoiled child.

Harry tried to see if anyone was looking guilty or particularly pleased with themselves, but couldn't tell from the distance he was at. As he moved to turn away, he noticed that Pansy's eyes had fallen on his, and nudging Malfoy to get his attention, they both looked at Harry and let out a lazy wave. Pansy had the usual wicked smile plastered on her face, but Malfoy seemed amused rather than snide, or whatever other expressions he usually harboured against Harry.

Harry frowned at them and then returned to his meal, though it didn't taste so good anymore. He expected it was just because his porridge was now soggy, but part of him felt that it was because of his distaste at the scene he was just exposed to.

"Harry?" Hermione cocked her head curiously at her friend.

All he could muster to say through large mouthfuls of the now bland porridge was, "Bloody Slytherins."


	11. The Bone Cracking Curse

_Chapter Eleven - The Bone Cracking Curse_

* * *

"Harry, Harry!"

Ron called down to his friend from far up in the sky, clearly upset at the current circumstance. Just because Harry couldn't fly the borrowed broom didn't mean that he couldn't fly at all, yet there he was, sitting on the bleachers very much like Hermione usually did whenever she ventured out to spectate: studying. Ron groaned as he willed his voice to travel all the way to the ground.

This was ridiculous. Two weeks on from the discovery of the cursed broom, and Hermione still hadn't managed to lift the spells that seemed so intent on staying firmly imprinted in the wood. Though he and Hermione - along with the rest of Gryffindor, who haphazardly became involved due to Ginny's inability to discuss things with her 'inside voice' - had suggested taking this up with Madam Hooch, Harry adamantly denied them, all too seriously worried that he might be banned from playing altogether. Ron knew that would never happen though, as it was McGonagall who set his friend up with Quidditch from the very beginning, and she wouldn't think anything as foolish as the idea that someone was out to get Harry. That was all over now, anyway.

"Harry!" Ron bellowed furiously, grumbling as he decided that the only way would be to actually fly down there in person.

Really, though, _studying?_ Hermione suggested it as a way to get Harry's mind off of things, but even she didn't expect him to go through with it. Maybe the pressure of N.E.W.T.s was finally getting to him. The intensity of the classes didn't really bother Ron much, but then again, he often found himself curled up with a book late most evenings, knowing that he'd be severely reprimanded by Hermione if he asked her to do another one of his essays for him, and he wanted to stay on her good side. Besides, Harry had other things to deal with.

_Poor bloke_, Ron thought kindly as he made his descent towards the benches nestled in frost-covered grass. _He never gets a break, does he?_

It wasn't quite at the point of snowing yet, but the grounds certainly looked a lot paler, almost as if pastels were painted over the top of the scenery in anticipation of the early approach of winter. Ron saw Harry shiver a little as he reached out a bare hand to turn a page on his Potions book.

"Harry," Ron repeated, this time relieved by the return of his gaze by sharp green eyes.

"Ron… shouldn't you be in the sky?" Harry looked a little startled to see his friend on the ground so early into practise.

Ron quirked an eyebrow up questioningly. "Shouldn't you?"

Harry's gaze hardened as he glowered at the red head, but Ron wasn't having any of it.

"Mate, you're Captain, and the game is next week! We need you up there."

"I've already given everyone a rundown of our plays, and they all seem to know what they're doing,' Harry interjected.

"What about you? You haven't had any practise for weeks." Ron lifted a heavily gloved hand and ran it through his messy hair in frustration.

"I don't have a broom to use."

"Use mine!" Ron thrust out the handle of his own broom without any hesitation, but Harry just blinked, his gaze still hard.

"That doesn't solve anything for next week. We need a keeper as much as we need a seeker. Besides, I can't ride your broom. Just think of all the looks people would give me if they knew I'd ridden Ron Weasley's broom." Finally a flicker of a smile threatened to play at Harry's lips, but Ron frowned back.

"Really Harry, this isn't time for innuendos."

"Then leave me to my Potions, and I'll leave you to your flying."

"Fine," Ron sighed, still a little astonished at the fact that Harry was actually keen to study. It was so unlike him… he must be _seriously _stressed.

He gave one last nervous glance before Harry assured him that everything would be fine, and then went back up to join the rest of the team. He grimaced as he heard Ginny calling out numbers frantically as she hurdled the quaffle through the goal posts as quickly as she shouted.

"Hey, I called time out! Those goals don't count!"

* * *

Harry kept his eyes glued to the Potions book, not daring to let them dart up and towards his team. He didn't want them to worry that he himself was concerned about his current predicament, and figured that if he wore a cool exterior then everyone else would just play along.

He wasn't actually paying much attention to the textbook, though he knew he probably should have been, considering his latest marks in the class. Luckily, Professor Slughorn was in charge of Potions again this year; he knew that if Snape was still kicking around he'd have been booted out of class before the train even pulled into the station. Though he wasn't particularly pleased with the special attention he was getting, not to mention how unfair it was that he was receiving E's because it was "simply intriguing how you managed to turn a Headache Draught into the equivalent of malt whiskey, Mr. Potter", he did still want to be an Auror, and it was easier than spending his free time doing revision.

_Yet another thing you've gotten because of who you are, not what you can do_, a small voice in his head lectured him, and he groaned, wishing that he hadn't been placed in Gryffindor so that his conscience would just leave him alone.

Once a few minutes had passed and he could clearly hear Ron yelling at his sister, he decided it was safe to pull out the scrap of parchment that he had tossed between some pages of the book. It was a letter from Quality Quidditch Supplies, apologising for the late arrival of his new broom and that it would be arriving some time during the next week, due to a regrettable accident in the warehouse that resulted in contamination of all employees after their research department exploded. He'd read it in the paper that morning, and apparently a work experience kid accidentally knocked a vial of extra strength wood varnish into a vat of liquefied vanadium steel, and the whole thing exploded. It went on to mention that everyone in the third floor was sent straight to St. Mungo's for third degree burns and heavy metal poisoning, while all of the other employees with less serious injuries were sent to a makeshift hospice as all of the other beds were taken up. According to the _Prophet_, steam from the explosion had gotten into the ventilation and some people might have inhaled it, which would probably have been worse in the long run than the burns. Harry summarised that it was just a normal accident involving lots of people, but Hermione assured him it was a much larger deal than that.

He wanted to ask her, back then, what sort of delay that would have on the broom shipments, but he still hadn't told anyone yet that he had eventually decided to invest a heck of a lot of Galleons on the broom. He was surprised that he managed to keep his mouth shut for so long, considering that he had sent out an order for it the day before they left for Hogwarts, along with a letter to Gringotts finalising the purchase. He was so sure that he would be reprimanded for the splurge that he kept putting it off, and now after everything that was going on, he didn't want to say anything and add to the commotion.

Harry shuddered as he thought of all the poor people at the factory, wishing that he could banish those thoughts from his mind, but they kept cropping up. He then tried focusing on how angry he was that his broom still hadn't arrived, and he might not even receive it in time at all! Who cared what his friends thought, so long as he could fly in the match next week. Finally deciding that being upset or angry wasn't any way to solve his problems, he settled down and tried to pay attention to the Potions book. Oh how he tried, resisting the urge to look up at his team with the strongest resolve. He was so grateful when the time came for everyone to drop to the ground and make their way to the change rooms that he didn't even bother giving any motivational speech, especially considering this was their last opportunity to train as a whole team before the match began. Instead, Harry gave a small grunt of approval through hooded eyes and said he'd see them all next Saturday, bright and early.

The others were all too tired or hyped about the game to notice, and Harry hoped that by darting out before they could remember he was there, they wouldn't remember that he was broomless.

* * *

The next week dragged on relentlessly, so much so that Harry found himself constantly having to bite his tongue as he began developing urges to lash out verbally at the smallest of things. He realised that it was getting out of hand when he almost called Professor Flitwick a 'pompous old git' when he corrected Harry's technique for a new spell they were learning. The sheer thought of him saying something so out of line to a teacher he respected was what snapped him out of his stupor and back into the real world. As if that wasn't enough, when Harry looked over his shoulder, he realised that Ron and Hermione were sitting a desk back from him, and he was actually sitting awkwardly at the end of a table of Hufflepuffs he didn't even know.

_How long have they been avoiding me for?_ He groaned and cupped his forehead in his hand. It must have been bad if his friends were distancing themselves from him, fearful of copping an earful of nonsensical ravings.

Harry knew that he had to do something to work out the massive knot of tension that seemed to be pulsating on the back of his neck like a parasite, stress that he didn't even know was there until he started thinking about it. _All this for a bloody broom! _Luckily, he had an ace up his sleeve, something that he could use in dire times. And oh, but this was dire.

After classes finished Harry bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, secretly glad that he was being dodged by his friends as it allowed him to get back to his room much quicker and he had some time alone before the others returned. At the same time, though, he was most definitely not pleased with himself, or else he probably wouldn't be doing what he was about to. No, this was definitely out of the ordinary.

Ensuring that the door was locked behind him, Harry glanced at a nearby clock and judged that he had about five minutes before his roommates would be testing the handle. It was certainly long enough, but he was still nervous of being walked in on nonetheless. He sat cautiously on his bed, perched in an awkward angle so that his back was facing the door, and pulled out the familiar ring that he carried in his pocket. It still gleamed as menacingly as ever, and he frowned as light hit the tiny emerald set on the head of the carved snake.

Harry knew that he wanted to avoid being near Malfoy at all costs, especially with all of this nonsense about brooms – the Slytherin git had managed to alert every person on the school grounds that the 'Great' Harry Potter couldn't even fly – but he needed something to take his mind off of things, and no one ever wanted to have a serious confrontation with him anymore for fear of being disarmed to death. Apparently _Witch Weekly_ had recently announced that Harry had been declared the strongest wizard since Albus Dumbledore, as well as one of the least stable ones too. None of it was true, but sometimes he was sure that even Ron and Hermione believed the rumours just a little. That didn't matter, as was the case for every other sodding rumour that managed to grace its way into a gossip magazine. Heck, after everything that happened, Harry was sure that he would find more truth in the_ Quibbler_ than most publications on the street.

Another reason why that silly rumour didn't matter was because he still had someone willing to challenge him, and even if that person was Draco _bloody_ Malfoy, Harry would do his best to overcome his misgivings and be civil. It wasn't too difficult, though, as every time Harry thought of Malfoy when he wasn't playing the arse that he so deftly was, his mind was carried away to that conversation in the train. And then the one in the dungeons. And finally, Malfoy's crumbling during their duel. There was more to him than met the eye, as if he was playing many different roles in a theatrical production, and Harry was ever the puzzle solver. Maybe if he cracked this case, he'd come to realise just why Malfoy was suck a prick, and maybe the animosity between them would die out.

_Not likely._

Realising that he had been staring at the ring for well over a minute, Harry took a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure the door was still firmly shut and then turned back to pick up his wand from his bed. Keeping his concentration as steady as he could manage, he swished his wand and mumbled the appropriate spell. A familiar string of light emerged from his wand, and he wrote in the air with a few ungraceful strokes.

_Fancy a duel? Same time, same place._

The words formed elegant loops as had happened the last time, turning Harry's scrawl into something more legible. When he was pleased with what he had written, he took in a great breath of air, holding it in as he tapped the writing. It flew onto the band of the ring and became a permanent engraving, and Harry knew that he couldn't take it back now even if he wanted to. He felt the ring grow warm for a fraction of a moment, and knew that Malfoy had gotten the message. All that was left was to wait for eight o'clock to roll around.

* * *

Harry walked into the Great Hall, fellow Gryffindors in tow, and scanned the room before taking his seat. No Malfoy. It wasn't nearly as awkward as it could have been for Harry though, as he had just spent the past half hour apologising to his peers for his atrocious behaviour, blaming it on being anxious about not having a broom, but they all accepted him quicker than he guessed they should have. Hermione had pinned it down to the fact that Harry had a tendency to snap at people when he was royally miffed, bringing up Umbridge as a very good example, but Harry suspected they were all just trying to keep him happy. He remembered his most recent time spent at the Burrow and realised that Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were all well rehearsed when it came to keeping Harry's temper at bay, and he felt a little guilty. But not too much, as he was too busy worrying if his duelling opponent would grace him with the privilege of his time of day.

The group sat in a bunch as usual, keen to keep away from the _other_ seventh years, with the exception of Ginny. She didn't seem to really get along all that well with the people her age and always preferred to hang around with Harry's lot, and as no one made any objections when she first started sitting with them, she decided to stick to it. Sometimes even Luna wandered over to the Gryffindor table, seating herself next to Harry when she did. Everyone liked Luna a great deal, even if she was a little bit loopy, and she always seemed to warm Harry's heart. He felt sorry for the poor girl, who was still being teased by her fellow Ravenclaws despite her great strength and the deadly sharp wit she was showing more and more often. If only the Sorting Hat had known just how much alike she was to the Gryffindors, it might have thought twice about placing her in Ravenclaw.

Instantaneously the food prepared for dinner appeared on the table with a shudder, Ron's gasp alerting most of the people who were sitting about and chatting. Harry chuckled to himself as he saw his friend shovel an ungodly amount of food on his plate as usual, wondering exactly where all of it went after he'd consumed it. This wasn't the case just for dinner; everything he ate was in large proportions, and unless they were in class Ron was almost constantly snacking as well. He had already been kicked out of the library a few times after being caught with a bag of crisps – a snack that Harry had introduced him to – but it was his own fault for trying to sneak in something that had such noisy packaging.

Harry set his eyes on the food and shovelled a helping of baked potatoes onto his own plate, but felt himself lurch forward unwittingly and his shirt pressed into his meal. He forced himself back against the hand that was no longer on the small of his back, and fell abruptly backwards off of the bench. There was a round of laughter from no more than half a dozen voices, and suddenly all sound at the Gryffindor table hung in the air.

"Shove off Malfoy," Ron hissed, as Hermione reached down to tug Harry off of the ground.

The back of his head seared, and Harry must have knocked it against the ground when he fell. Hermione saw him wince in pain and bring his hand to his head, and bent down to help him up.

"We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey," she whispered low into his ear, but he shook his head in rebuttal, causing her to jump back slightly.

"I'm fine, I just wasn't expecting it," Harry mumbled, finally scrambling off of the floor and onto his feet. He stood as tall as he could in an attempt to transcend Malfoy, but he just wasn't tall enough. He ended up getting a close-up sneer tossed right at him.

"Need a bib, Potter?"

Harry looked down and saw that the front of his shirt was covered in bits of potato. _Oh well, at least it wasn't my face, or he'd be _really_ laughing_, he thought quickly.

"Sod off Malfoy, you're not wanted here." He tried his best to look furious for the spectating audience, but this childish taunting was so pathetic that he didn't even care.

"And what makes you so sure that _you're_ wanted, 'eh Potter?" Malfoy retorted as his eyebrows rose self-approvingly. "Who'd want to be around a wizard that can't even fly?"

"That's not how it is, and you know it! You set Harry up!"

The whole room fell silent, all eyes falling on Ginny Weasley, who had finally snapped. Even Harry turned from his confronting pose with Malfoy to look at her, and he suspected the Slytherin was looking just as shocked as he was. She was standing, her fork crushed in her clenched fist, and she seemed to be shaking with rage.

After a moment, which seemed to be the time needed for him to regain his composure, Malfoy snaked out a mischievous, "And what, pray tell, did I do to set _Harry_ up?"

Another pause settled between them, before Ginny bellowed out, "You cursed his broom! I know it was you, you foul Death Eater! All because you wanted to win a stupid Quidditch game!"

Before anything else was said, Ginny let loose a Bat Bogey Hex that narrowly missed Harry to hit Malfoy square in the face. He doubled over as a large green blob appeared and started attacking him, and Pansy leaped forward from her spot by Malfoy's side.

"How dare you attack him!" she shrieked. "Filthy blood traitor!"

A jet of light rocketed from her wand and whooshed over Ginny's head, crashing into the wall and taking a sizeable chunk out of it and barely missing the Hufflepuff table. Displeased that she missed, Pansy fired again, this time catching Ginny's side as she tried to leap out of the way. Before she even hit the ground a shrill noise enveloped the room, causing everyone's hands to leap up over their ears protectively. It was piercing, so much so that everyone who was standing ended up on the floor, and everyone else slumped over their tables from the pain of it.

The noise left as quickly as it came, though a dull ringing remained in Harry's head for several minutes. Surprisingly it didn't have any impact on how clearly he could hear the voices around him. The one that stood out was shrill and familiarly odd, as he liked to put it.

"_WHAT in Merlin's name is going on here!?_" Professor Rosewood cried from her place behind the staff table. The other teachers were having a meeting with some Ministry officials, and she had volunteered to take watch over the students during their dinner.

She stomped up the walkway that narrowly divided the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, a blaze of tangerine robes that grew darker with her mood. She managed to make it to where Harry was trying to pick himself up once again before anyone could get on their feet. She glared at Malfoy, who was whimpering quietly from the onslaught he had just experienced from the Bat Bogey Hex, before doing what Harry thought was the most incredible thing he had seen a teacher do: drag Pansy Parkinson from the ground by the ear.

Pansy screamed as her legs tried to right themselves, but the aftershock of the previous spell had left her too weak to stand properly, so she dangled limply in Rosewood's hand. It seemed like a fitting punishment, but Harry suspected she was playing up on it for dramatic effect and was actually supporting herself quite well.

"Miss Parkinson," Rosewood all but yelled into her aloft ear, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I think there is a need for you to tell me exactly why you shot a Bone Cracking Curse at Miss Weasley. I also need to know exactly _where_ you learned such a horrible spell so I can burn the book, or spell someone's lips closed permanently."

Pansy sobbed, now taking a more stable stance, though Rosewood did not relinquish her grip on the reddening ear. When she didn't say anything, the professor finally let her go as she fell back to the ground.

"Fifty points from Slytherin, and then twenty more, thanks to Mr. Malfoy for starting this whole mess. Miss Parkinson, you'll be serving a week's detention starting tonight. Hagrid needs someone to help him pick mushrooms in the Forbidden Forest." She glowered at the two and shooed them to their seats before turning to her Gryffindors. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for Miss Weasley's outburst. This could have been avoided."

She then quickly made her way to walk around the long Gryffindor table, cursing at the fact that there was no way to walk through the middle, and came to crouch over Ginny, who was splayed on the floor with her limbs violently projected in awkward directions. Glancing over the table, though he couldn't see much, Harry registered that from what he _could_ see, it looked painful.

"Is anyone else in need of the infirmary?" Rosewood called out through the hall.

When no one answered, she stood once more and cast a silent spell that had everyone gobsmacked. Even Harry was surprised to see such a young witch have so much control over the Patronus spell, to the point where she could cast it nonverbally. A small cat appeared in a cloud of silver vapour, not unlike McGonagall's animagus form, and darted through wall like a ghost.

"Harry," she called, "you're coming too. You might have a concussion."

Harry tried to object, but the look in her eyes told him she wasn't willing to take no for an answer, so he sighed and waited for whatever it was that Rosewood was waiting for.

After about a minute, Madam Pomfrey appeared at the door to the Great Hall, accompanied by Headmistress McGonagall, who looked as though she had just been dancing with a Dementor. There was a mad shuffling of feet, and Ginny was levitated off of the ground and out of the hall. Rosewood asked McGonagall to keep watch and that she would go along, possibly being able to provide extra information about the curse, and then urged Harry to follow her. As he walked out of the hall he could feel the sting of staring eyes at the back of his head, though it could have been the fall from the ground, and he knew that dinner would be pretty much left untouched for that night.


	12. Gryffindor's Little Secret

_Chapter Twelve - Gryffindor's Little Secret_

* * *

It was cold and dark in the hospital wing, and Harry wished he had been wearing his thick winter robes to dinner. His stomach grumbled angrily at the thought of food and right now he didn't care if he was shoved into a plate of potatoes again so long as he could eat them. He was ravenous at the table, and bloody Malfoy hadn't even let him down a few bites before starting some trouble. At least his shirt was clean now, and with good measure – Harry was almost certain that he would have actually put in the effort to try to lick the residue off if the potato stain was still there. He felt a twinge of embarrassment at the thought, but he had been sitting in the infirmary for well over a few hours.

When he and the two faculty members made their pursuit to the hospital wing, Ginny in tow, Harry was shocked to find himself running just to stay in pace with them. The mad dash amazed him, as there hadn't been many occasions that he was privy to see just how agile Hogwarts staff were. It was a long-kept popular misconception of the students of Hogwarts that all teachers were merely recruited because they could find themselves of no real use in the wizarding world. Harry knew this was a completely stupid sentiment, but he still managed to find himself impressed every now and then. Perhaps teachers were the cleverest of them all, keeping themselves in good practise without ever having to restrict themselves (like Unspeakables) or put themselves in danger (like Aurors). Actually, there were a lot of difficult jobs out there that seemed quite dangerous.

Harry had thought about that to himself for quite a while as he lay on a sterile bed in the infirmary waiting for someone to come speak with him. Suddenly curious of what life in the wizarding world outside of school was like, Harry found it was an interesting enough line of thought to keep him fairly distracted from the passage of time. While Madam Pomfrey and Professor Rosewood darted around the room, in and out of doors and carrying with them several bottles of the all too familiar Skele-Gro and an assortment of other potions, Harry racked his brains to try to remember some of the professions that were out there. Yet, for all of his time spent in the wizarding world, he didn't actually know that many. Of course, there was the Ministry, and all of the departments in it, but what about outside of it? There were shops, like the ones in Diagon Alley, he knew that brooms were manufactured in a warehouse, and Charlie Weasley worked with dragons...

Harry frowned. Of all of the things he had come to learn about since he first discovered that he was a wizard, Harry realised that he knew nearly nothing about the actual wizarding world himself. And to think that he was their ultimate saviour! The irony pelted down on him like rocks of ice in a hailstorm. Here he was, back at school to finish taking his N.E.W.T.s – five of them, to be exact – when he didn't even know what he would even do with them after the school year finished.

He and Ron had conspired with each other over the passing years about becoming Aurors, and sure, it seemed like a good idea. Fighting bad guys was something that Harry had a natural knack for, but besides that he really had no clue what else was in the job description. Hermione was going down a path that would no doubt end up with her being some sort of legal representative for the 'magically oppressed', Neville dreamed of becoming a Herbologist, and Ginny was leaning away from academics completely. He knew that she was only taking four N.E.W.T.s, and recalled her saying something along the lines of this year only being for her mother (though now he felt certain that at least part of it was for him too), before declaring she would be trying out for some national Quidditch teams after school.

All of these different agendas had him a little worried that he might end up split apart from his friends, which was probably one of the reasons why he had agreed so readily to joining Ron's dreams of becoming Aurors together. Harry had no idea of how he was going to live as an adult in the wizarding world, but he didn't belong with the muggles either. Somehow he managed to get himself stuck between two different realities without figuring out either of them well enough to be comfortable in its society. Even if he did end up as an Auror, he couldn't just work all hours of the day to cover up that he didn't know what to do with himself.

There was a crash in the back corner of the room, and Harry realised that during his musings he had forgotten all about Ginny. He felt himself frowning again. Would she even be able to fly again after what had happened to her tonight? Of course the Skele-Gro was reassuring – that stuff stung like nothing imaginable, but worked amazingly – but he still had some reservations that came with his muggle upbringing. Once again he was stuck in a loop and couldn't pick a side.

"That's an awfully serious face you're sporting, Harry." He glanced up to see Professor Rosewood hovering above him, her robes mellowed back to their original light tangerine. "Ginny's awake now, if you want to see her."

Harry didn't hesitate to bound out of the bed with one great leap, though he felt an ungrateful pang from the back of his head as he did so. Ignoring the pain, he tried to contain his anxiety and walked to the room across from his bed – the one left for very serious cases. Even Harry hadn't been unlucky enough to get a glimpse of it from the inside, despite him and his friends having occupied almost every other cot at one time or another.

As Harry crept through the doorway an extremely empty, open room met him. The walls were lined with counters, upon which stood dozens of bottles of potions, and a bed sat centred in the room. That was about it. He suspected there was some sort of permanent light charm that made the place brighter, but only because his eyes stung a little as he looked around. He let his gaze fall down to the bed in the centre and met the eyes of a weary looking Ginny.

"Hi," she breathed once Harry had noticed her tucked between the sheets.

Harry echoed a shallow "Hi" in response, not sure of what else to say. She looked frail beyond all belief, like she had been screaming in agony all night long, but Harry knew she hadn't made a sound. While Skele-Gro was less than comfortable, it looked like the majority of the fatigue came from the curse that had been thrown at her. A Bone Cracking Curse. He'd never heard of it before, but it sounded painful.

When he realised that he was standing awkwardly in the room Harry made to sit on the chair beside the bed, though it didn't do much to help the situation. Ginny's eyes seemed to shimmer as he approached, and her hand snaked its way to his the moment they were close enough to touch.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked, though he thought it sounded more like a squeak.

"Like my bones melted and I have to regrow them... slowly." Harry didn't know what exactly the curse did, but Madam Pomfrey had jellified Ginny's entire body and her skeleton was regrowing from her head down. So far only the top half of her ribcage and above had started to form, and even there she looked brittle. It gave the effect of an empty bed under the sheets, with Ginny suddenly appearing at the top end of it.

Harry looked at the floor in an attempt to shake Ginny's gaze, but she probably thought it was for another reason.

"Don't worry Harry. I've already got full use of both of my arms back," she reassured him.

"Well, hopefully you'll be back to your old ways soon enough."

"Me too. Madam Pomfrey says I have to stay here overnight, but I should be ok to leave in the next day or two."

Harry looked back up and smiled weakly.

Ginny's voice turned solid and venomous as she continued, "Don't you even think about benching me for next week's Quidditch match. I'd like to get a hold of a bat and club a bludger right at that git Malfoy for having me wind up in this place."

"What? Don't take it out on him. He's not the one who cursed you into here," Harry shot defensively.

Ginny shrugged. "Who'd have guessed Parkinson is so protective of her little ferret. Next time I'll make sure she can't interfere."

"Are you kidding me? Do you even care that she disintegrated your bones with dark magic so badly she should probably be sent to the Ministry to be dealt with?"

"Not really, considering I have other things to deal with. Like you, for example." Her eyes were positively sparkling now, and her voice sounded odd.

"What could I have done that was so bad to make you go mental like this, Ginny?"

"For one, you're trying to defend _Malfoy_, even though he tried to kill you by hexing your broom."

"He didn-" Harry stood up instinctively and tried to claw away the pale hand that was tightly clamped around his knuckles. "Ahhhh..." he gasped, trying to free himself from the vice-like grip on his hand.

"I know that you were arguing with him about this in the Prefect's bathroom, and trust me, he's lying. I don't know what he's up to, but its not good."

Harry finally wrenched free and cradled his hand sheepishly. "Guess I shouldn't have worried about your recovery, geez," he muttered to himself, but he was sure Ginny heard him. He straightened up a little and looked back down to her, making sure he was no longer within arm's reach. "I don't know about Malfoy," he said to her, "but I don't think you're right."

"Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater," Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes as she let her head thud back down onto her pillow dramatically.

"You don't know that!"

"Neither do you!" Ginny spat.

"They were forcing him, Ginny!"

"Why are you so keen to defend him?" Ginny shouted fairly loudly, considering she had barely regained control of her upper body.

"He tried to save my life!" When Harry roared back, it was as if someone had turned the volume down on everything around him. The words echoed in the room and Ginny looked back at him in disbelief.

"H-he w-w-what? When?" she stammered, as though the wind had been knocked out of her.

"He saved my life," Harry repeated sourly. "You know, we – Ron, Hermione and me – we haven't told everyone the whole story. At least I haven't. I don't think I'm quite up to it, even after all this time. But I assure you, it did happen, and he is a different person."

Harry pulled the chair away from the bed a little and sat upon it, avoiding eye contact once more.

"But he was at Hogwarts! I saw him! Ron said he tried to kill you!"

Harry let out an amused huff. "I specifically remember hearing Malfoy shouting 'don't kill him!' to his cronies. I actually think that... everything... it was the first original thought Crabbe and Goyle ever had, and Malfoy went along with it because he had no choice."

"Are you serious?" Ginny seemed genuinely intrigued.

"Yeah. Did you see those two back then? They could've lopped Malfoy's head off with one swipe if they wanted." Harry let out a nervous laugh before adding, "Big buggers. I bet if they ever had the brains to begin with, Malfoy would be the lapdog and they'd get all the special attention. They really outgrew him."

"I still don't trust him."

Harry let the awkward silence linger before he spoke again. "Neither do I. Just promise me you won't hex him to the underworld and let me figure this out myself? I've been wrong about people before, and I don't want to jump to conclusions ever again."

Ginny reached out her arm once more, her hand searching for Harry's, but he made sure he was far enough away that she failed. It dropped to the side of the bed like a discarded rag doll with acceptance that she had lost his trust, but she still managed to let a warm smile creep on her face.

"Just remember that sometimes your instinct is right... Sorry about your hand. You know how I get sometimes." Her tone was almost pleading.

"Yeah, Gin. I know. Just don't get yourself into any more trouble. You're not made for that sort of stuff like your big brothers. Just focus on getting better so you can play in the big match. I don't want to have to bench you." He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. He then put on his Captain face, complete with his no-nonsense voice so that she would understand he meant what he was about to say. "If you do anything this stupid again, you're off the team. I don't want bad role models going around showing the first years that I endorse physical violence against other students." Before Ginny could say another word, Harry had already exited the room and shut the door with a tight click.

He hadn't even parted with a smile, but it was for her own good. Besides, he just didn't feel like smiling.

* * *

After his encounter with Ginny, Professor Rosewood escorted Harry back to the Gryffindor common room, but only after Madam Pomfrey had given him a concussion tonic. He was amazed to find that what had seemed like hours was barely even two as he stumbled through the portrait to find half of Gryffindor huddled together in the common room waiting for someone to bring them news. A third year student caught sight of Harry and cheered, starting a commotion in the room that could barely contain them comfortably. Anyone and everyone said something to Harry and shook his hand or gave a high five. As usual, Harry mostly ignored it all and looked for his friends.

"Harry," Hermione squeaked, as she pulled him through the crowd and into a corner off to the side, where she, Ron and Neville were standing awkwardly.

"How's Ginny?" Ron gasped before Harry was even properly free from the mass.

"She'll be fine," Harry muttered. "Out in a few days, then back on the broom for the match."

Ron seemed unsettled by the brevity of the answer, but Hermione stepped forward and changed the subject before he could say anything else.

"How are you, Harry?" she asked, her eyes probing as if trying to seek out any magical malady that might be present.

"I'm fine Hermione. Stop looking at me like that." The sight of the frazzled witch brought a smile to his face quickly, and he found himself laughing in spite of her.

"What?" she questioned, not grasping why Harry seemed so carefree at such a time.

"Nothing Hermione. Nothing at all."

Harry gave a grin and settled himself against the wall where he and the other three talked for some time. Neville had brought up a plate of food from dinner that Harry eagerly scoffed down. Eventually the commotion died down when Rosewood told all the students younger than fourth year to go to bed. There was some playful booing at the fact, but soon they had all scampered away, and Harry managed to find a free sofa to sit on. He glanced up at the clock sitting above the fireplace and mused that it was only half past eight, but he was feeling so tired.

"I think I'm going to call it a night," Harry said through a yawn as he stretched his legs in front of him.

"Don't forget to wash up," Hermione said helpfully, resulting in giggles from every student within listening range.

"Yes mum," Harry chimed, his eyes darting back at the clock. "Actually, I think I might head to the Prefect's bathroom actually. Have a good soak."

"That's a good idea. Don't fall asleep in the bath!" More giggles and chuckles amassed, and Hermione looked positively clueless as to why everyone around her was laughing, clearly having not cottoned on to Harry's previous statement.

"Really, Hermione. You're really something else," Ron nudged her, and she smiled appreciatively.

* * *

Harry padded through the corridor and down the stairs from the seventh floor quietly with a bundle of clothes and a towel beneath his arm, though he had no intention of actually making it down to the bathroom on the fifth floor. In fact, his sleepiness had been completely blown away when he remembered what was engraved on the small silver ring in his front trouser pocket, and that there was still a chance that he could make it to the abandoned classroom before his chance was lost.

Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy would be there waiting, or if he'd be cooped up in the dungeons at Slughorn's orders – Rosewood often 'grounded' the Gryffindors instead of giving them detention, knowing that preventing them from getting to the library or catching up with friend from other houses was a far greater punishment. There was also a worry that Malfoy wouldn't have even bothered coming, assuming Harry had been knocked on the head something fierce and wouldn't be leaving the infirmary that night. Despite the voice in Harry's head rolling off every possible reason why Malfoy wouldn't be there, Harry kept his footing and eventually made his way until he saw the door of the room he sought. He stopped, seeing that it was ajar, and he felt a flight response – what if Filch was trying to catch out some young student out after curfew? - but he stubbornly carried on. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw a silhouette standing in the corner of the room, blonde hair gleaming as the moonlight hit it through the window.

"Nice to see you show up, Potter," Malfoy smirked, not even looking up.

"I hope you didn't think a bump on the head would have me missing this, Malfoy, because you'd be wrong." Harry put on his best imitation of the Slytherin and cast his bundle aside on a stray table before locking the door behind him.

"Missing what, me kicking your ass?"

"The very opposite."

Malfoy shot Harry a glance finally, though it wasn't filled with nearly as much hatred as Harry had expected. It looked more like the other man was looking for a good fight - a thrill in what was fast becoming a very bland learning environment.

They shared a few more 'pleasantries' and then positioned themselves adequately so they had enough space to run around a bit, and Malfoy let off the first shot. Harry blocked and countered it easily, pleased to find that his opponent was much more in control of his emotions than the last time they had duelled. Jinxes flew one after another in rapid succession for a few minutes, before Harry decided he'd had enough. Suddenly, Malfoy found his wand flying to the other side of the room as a lazy _Expelliarmus_ flung it aside.

"Hey, no fair!" he called, stepping forward to reclaim the wand. "I was starting to have fun."

Harry let Malfoy gather his wand and waited for his full attention. "I thought I might show you how to defend against that tonight, considering how easily you're thwarted by a simple disarming spell."

"I'm not _thwarted_," Malfoy scoffed, "I just like to have a loose grip on my wand. Holding onto it as if I might be disarmed at any moment cramps my hand."

"It'll give you splinters too," Harry laughed, knowing that defending against an _Expelliarmus _had nothing to do with how the wizard held his wand.

Though he wasn't the best student in the world, Harry found Malfoy surprisingly easy to work with, and he mused at how he was actually willing to take the criticism Harry threw at him. It only took fifteen minutes before Malfoy was successfully shielding against disarmament, and in another ten he was doing so with ease.

Harry grabbed a chair that was standing on top of a table and brought it down to sit on it, panting a little after all the exercise. The room was fairly large and he and Malfoy had been darting across each side, dodging spells and attempting to get the upper hand on one another. The result had left Harry sweat stained, and he had to pull his glasses off to wipe his face.

"I never would have guessed you actually meant what you said on the train," he said through strained breaths as Malfoy took another chair to sit across from him, "but I'm pleasantly surprised."

"At what? The fact that I don't know everything, or that I learned something new from you?" Malfoy chuckled loftily. Harry hadn't ever heard him talk like this before, but it was a nice change from the usual holier-than-thou façade he liked to play up on.

"Oh, I know you don't know everything," Harry laughed. "I just didn't expect you'd be so willing to have me of all people help out."

"You and the rest of Britain."

The two sat quite comfortably in the silence while they let their heart rates slow. It was odd that they, two obvious enemies, were in the same room and not ripping each other's throats out, and had in fact just participated in perfectly voluntarily civil conversation moments ago. But yet again, it was a nice change. If only Malfoy would tone down the hostility outside of their secret meetings, they might even have a chance at being civil to each other in an everyday situation.

_Fat chance_, Harry thought to himself, knowing that after all of these years of tension Malfoy would never simply drop the act, even after all that had happened in the past twelve months.

What was even more intriguing, though, was the fact that Malfoy even had an act to keep up. Until he had seen Malfoy looking so odd, almost human, Harry was certain that there would still be a rivalry _despite_ the recent occurrences. Of course Harry had let it go by growing up a little, and was nowhere near as perplexed by the wrongdoings of the Slytherin as he had been in their sixth year, but he suspected any misgivings he still felt would be reciprocated a thousandfold. Then there was the issue of the broom.

"So," Harry spoke, breaking the silence that had properly taken over once they were both breathing normally again. "Did you curse the broom?"

"What? No." Malfoy had been caught off guard, and Harry managed to catch a glimpse of offence at the question under the cool mask that was Draco Malfoy before it settled completely. "I told you before that it wasn't me."

"Just checking. I think I believe you, but Ginny was so sure..." Harry frowned a little.

"The Weaslette wanted to protect her _ickle Potterkins_ from the horrible, evil Death Eater?" Harry wasn't sure how, but Malfoy had managed to sneer out each and every word as if a foul stench emanated from the sound of each syllable as he said it. "Do you honestly think I'd curse your broom so I could beat you at Quidditch?"

Harry raised his eyebrows and caught an angered look from the Slytherin. Of course he would have done it; Harry always caught the snitch first, and in some spectacular manner that would leave the crowd's eyes fixed only on him.

"Scratch that." Malfoy mumbled. "But I still didn't do it. This year I'd like to beat you fair and square, and not just to get my wand back."

"Oh, you're so noble," Harry snickered, granting him another foul look.

"And you're pushing your luck. If you want another round, then I suggest you shut your mouth before I walk out."

"Fine, fine," Harry raised his hands in defeat and stood from the chair, ready for round two.

The duel was fairly evenly matched, and though Harry didn't bother breaking out any disarming spells, he was surprised to find that Malfoy actually did. He wasn't really paying all that much attention, knowing that for once in a long time there wasn't a chance of being hit with an _Avada Kedavra_, so Harry was almost caught off guard when the red spell hit his hand and he nearly lost the wand altogether.

Barely managing to keep it in tow, he heard Malfoy calling over to him. "Nice save Potter!" he laughed in the same genuine voice he had used before.

Harry smiled back, but found that his face had frozen solid, and his body went soaring across the room.

"Ha, got you!" came a call, and Harry realised he had been _Stupefied_.

A moment later Malfoy came strolling up to Harry's limp body lying on the floor, and the next thing he remembered was his eyes being forced open as Malfoy muttered "_Rennervate."_

"Ow," Harry moaned as he raised his hand to the back of his head; a familiar spot that night.

He had been sent into the wall behind him, and Harry now lay with his body slumped in an awkward position against the point where the floor met the wall. His head was throbbing, more so than it had been when he fell off his bench earlier, and he suspected it would not be wise to give in to the now sudden urge to close his eyes once again.

"I think that sums up our fun for tonight, Potter," Malfoy said almost soothingly, but still in his usual way that made Harry's skin crawl. "You look ready for bed."

"Yeah, you're not wrong there." Harry forced himself up by leaning slightly against the wall, still balancing against it with one hand once he was upright, the other hand never leaving his head.

"You should get that looked at," Malfoy pointed, his voice back to its usual haughty tone, and Harry was unsure if he was jeering or trying to mask some genuine concern.

"I'll be fine."

Harry sat down for a short while as Malfoy straightened his robes and proceeded out the door without another word. Harry knew that he had not only learned something, but also enjoyed it, but he also knew that it was certainly too much to expect a thank you from Malfoy. He rolled his eyes teasingly even after the blonde had left, and once the pain in his head dulled down to something he could handle without having to clench his eyes closed, Harry stood up and set about fixing the cracked and crumbled pieces of wall and floor. After struggling for a moment, but eventually repairing a table that had received the full brunt of a hex by trying to remember Hermione's elaborate ways of swishing her wand, Harry decided that the room wasn't going to get much better than this.

Harry almost left the room forgetting his little bundle of clothes, and when his eyes caught sight of it he remembered that he would probably look odd to his friends if he arrived back from the 'bathroom' in a worst state than he had left. Taking this into account, he decided that a hot bath would be nice and might take out the sting in his head and the faint ache in his muscles.

Picking up the clothes and towel, he quietly made his way down to the fifth floor. When he approached the door, he muttered the password: _Rumplestiltskin_.

* * *

It was approaching curfew for the senior students by the time Harry arrived back in the common room, but he was surprised to find that the scene in room had barely changed since he had left earlier that night. Voices buzzed pleasantly among his head – an after effect of one of the bubble mixtures from the Prefect's bath labelled 'Sleepy Times' – as he stepped up to the couch he had left his friends at, and he noticed that they were bunched up around something.

"What's going on?" Harry queried, and suddenly a dozen bodies twisted around to meet him.

"It's a package!" Parvati announced, clasping her hands together with anticipation.

"We're trying to figure out what it is. It's just a big square box wrapped in some sort of gold paper. Looks fancy," Lavender chimed in.

"Oh, okay." Harry wasn't in much of a state to be his own curious self, and he preferred the idea of collapsing onto his bed and sleeping until mid afternoon the next day. He was trying to make his way past the crowd and up the steps to his room, but all of the spaces through the crowd seemed to dissipate and he was suddenly trapped. Not liking the attention, Harry started to feel his pulse quicken as he began to panic a little, but Ron's voice cut through the feeling like a hot knife, and Harry began to fight against the effects induced by his bath.

"Its for you, Harry." Ron had said. "You always seem to get the good stuff. Looks like a present"

"A bloody _expensive_ one, if you ask me," said Dean. "No one uses _that_ gold wrapping anymore, not when it's usually worth more than the object itself. I'm amazed they trusted those poor little owls with it – I'd have hand delivered it myself."

"What are you, a courier?" Seamus prodded jokingly.

"I wouldn't mind setting up a business for myself, actually. Been reading up on it over the break, and it seems lucrative," Dean beamed.

"Lucrative? I've never heard you say such a fancy word before," Ron piped up.

"Yeah well, if I plan to go into the big bad wizarding world using your vocabulary, Ron, they'd kick me out on my arse in the street laughing!"

The group shared a collective laugh as Dean straightened out his robes, looking as pretentious as he possibly could without cracking up himself, before Hermione reminded everyone about the box.

"Are you going to open it, or what?" she urged Harry, pushing the large box into his arms, which she suddenly realised was not the greatest of ideas.

The box was a huge long rectangle, oddly resembling an _Engorged _wand box, standing at almost two metres tall, just less than half that wide and very shallow. It was taller than Harry, and he struggled to keep it from falling as Hermione shoved it towards him. It toppled over anyway, and landed with a loud thud on the ground as people scattered away to avoid being hit.

"I hope that wasn't _too_ expensive," Ron grimaced, as Harry knelt down to inspect the package.

The moment Harry's bare hand touched the box he could no longer resist the temptation and tore open the packaging while the others gasped. He laughed as he did so, partially fuelled by curiosity and the sounds of Dean wailing about the ripped wrapping, until finally it was all tossed aside and Harry lifted the lid of the box. The crowd collectively gasped once more, and Harry's eyes visibly brightened. His new broom! Of course!

"Finally," he sighed, and pulled out the immaculate object from the box. He had waited so long for it, and it had finally arrived right on the night that everything seemed to be happening.

"Harry, is that what I think it is?" Ron asked in quiet disbelief.

"Yeah. And it's mine." Harry grinned.

Ron's mouth dropped open as if Harry's statement made everything real. "I didn't think they were being released until next month."

"Do you know who sent you it? Do you think they know about the whole broom incident?" Hermione questioned Harry, not trusting for a second what was before them.

"No Hermione. I bought this myself."

"Since when?" Ron asked, still in awe.

"Before we came back to school. Remember in Diagon Alley?"

"But that must have cost a _fortune_. I don't think half of the professional teams are going to even bother with it because its so dear," Lavender commended – Harry didn't even know she was interested in Quidditch.

"Yeah," he laughed sheepishly, "it was a lot, but the manager gave me a good deal and I couldn't say no."

"Yeah. Harry always has the best of the best when it comes to brooms," Dean crowed.

Harry paused for a moment and thought about that. "I guess I do," he admitted, though he noted it wasn't something he did consciously. He just always happened upon the latest and greatest thing after he conveniently ended up needing it.

"So are you going to give it a go?" Harry wasn't sure who had said that, but he was sure everyone was thinking it nonetheless.

"Are you kidding me? I want to go to bed. I'm _tired_." He could hear a few grumbles muttered around him. "Besides, I think this might be a nice little surprise for Slytherin next week. Can we all keep this secret, yeah?"

Though he wasn't sure that he could trust everyone to keep it a secret, especially the makeshift Harry Potter fanclub who _had_ to gossip about everything Potter-related, Harry was too tired to really care. He tried once more to make his way to his room, this time carrying the broom carefully in his arms, but was stopped again; Hermione had tugged on his sleeve.

"I still think you should let me take a look at it and make sure there aren't any little _surprises_ _waiting for you_, Harry," she begged.

"Tomorrow," was all that he cared to say, and he waved her away.

It seemed to take centuries to finally reach the door of his room, and he fumbled to turn the handle without dropping the broom. With a very satisfied thud, Harry hit the covers of his bed, the broom set precariously against a chair next to him, and he fell asleep without even pulling back the sheets.


	13. Petrified

_Chapter Thirteen - Petrified_

* * *

The week leading up to the beginning of the Quidditch tournament passed quickly, and on the Saturday morning of the match against Slytherin Harry awoke in his bed with a bout of butterflies in his stomach. It was amazing that he was lying in his wonderfully warm bed at Hogwarts and about to play in the first real Quidditch game of the year, especially considering if asked a few months ago what he'd be doing he would have shrugged and guessed he'd maybe be helping George out at the joke shop. It was at that moment, when Harry pulled the covers over his head to shield his eyes from the sunlight dancing through the windows, that he was suddenly struck by the magnitude of everything that had happened in the past few years. He was a normal person with normal grades and a normal life – or close enough to what normal constituted – who hadn't a care in the world about worrying for his safety in quite a long amount of time... and he was going to play his first game of the year as Quidditch Captain without fear of dementors, or bewitched brooms, or anything really. Harry hoped this feeling could last forever.

Harry ate breakfast at one end of the Gryffindor table with the rest of his team, while the younger players whispered with panicked voices about what might possibly go wrong. Harry hadn't really bothered watching the Slytherin team practise, but he had managed to find through the help of Ron and Hermione who the other team's players were, and he was all too fortunate to not have to seek them out to study how they might act on the field. Each and every player on the Slytherin draft was either a delinquent, a bully, or a giant snob, spending their time being monumental gits and doing things that drew attention to their inflated egos. People like that in Hogwarts were laughable, and often were unable to keep their minds on any one thing other than being bullies. Harry was sure that they would be pushovers.

"The guys beating today are a couple of idiots," Harry reassured Patrick, who had never played against another team before. "They think they're something holy, but they're just two stringy beans full of hot air. Hit the back of their brooms, and I bet you five galleons one of them will lose control and fall off."

Jimmy hung his arm around Patrick smiling. "I'll look after him Harry, don't worry." Though he was more experienced, he was a year younger and still had quite a bit of growing to do, which made the sight of Jimmy offering to 'protect' Patrick comical. Harry wasn't the only one to notice this, as the rest of the group laughed with him.

"I doubt we'll even get a chance to do anything," Dean sighed, pushing the eggs around his plate lazily with his fork. "Not unless they blindfold Harry."

"I assure you, I'm not that good," Harry laughed.

"Yeah, but your broom!"

Dean was met with a sudden collective hush from the others, who had all agreed to not speak about Harry's new broom. It was for good reason too, considering a few Slytherins walked past throwing hisses and boos. Behind them was the captain for their team, Candice Stevens.

She was a tall, slender girl who usually kept her long mousy brown hair in a high ponytail, which only served to accentuate the haughtily skeletal features on her face. She was in a few of Harry's N.E.W.T.s, but he never took much notice of her; she was a year younger, very quiet and did not hang about with the giggling gossips that usually bothered him. In fact, she seemed more like a loner, and Harry couldn't help but wonder exactly how she had managed to gain captaincy, especially considering she was the only female on the team this year.

"So Potter," she sneered, somehow managing to look down her nose at him despite its incredible angle, "still planning on flying with the school's Cleansweep? I've heard it's been cursed too. How... unfortunate. Maybe you should go crying to Madam Hooch for a new broom, or did you try that already and she said no?"

"How about you worry about your own team, yeah? I never knew a Slytherin who actually empathised with the enemy." Harry allowed his voice to become just as cold as hers, something that surprised him and his team, considering how they all became silent. Their eyes darted anxiously between Harry and Candice.

"How very feeble of you, thinking I was offering some concern. I was simply seeing if the rumours were true, and how I could use them to my advantage." She was a picture of pompousness, and Harry could at least see why she was still even on the team.

"See you on the field then," Harry said emotionlessly, and raised his hand to wave her away.

Candice stared at him for a moment and a half, until she was jostled aside by a couple of rowdy second years attempting to race each other to the end of the room. She finally strode off, her head lifted even higher, and Harry breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Where did that come from?" Ron nudged Harry in the side, which resulted in an eruption of laughter from the two, and eventually the rest of the group.

Harry scratched the back of his head, still laughing. "I don't know. Just wondered how she'd like a dose of her own medicine."

"Well I think it worked."

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "No wonder they do that all the time, it's fun watching other people's reactions when you're pretending you've got a stick stuck up your-"

* * *

"Harry?"

A pair of gloved hands rested on Harry's shoulders, and he snapped out of his daydream. Ginny had startled him; he thought she was still being kept in that little room in the infirmary under 'observation', and he leaned forward to give her a friendly hug. She was grinning wildly – something he hadn't seen her do in a very long time.

Pulling away before it became too awkward, he asked, "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I told you I wasn't going to miss this game for anything," she smiled, letting her hands linger on Harry's shoulders.

"But I thought that you had to stay and-"

"Harry, its okay. You know Madam Pomfrey would have found some way to keep me in there if she needed to." She rolled her eyes before continuing. "I think they just wanted to study the energy from the spell Pansy put on me. Apparently no one's used the Bone Crushing curse in centuries. They're surprised that she managed to find the incantation, but _I'm_ more perplexed as to how Professor Rosewood was able to detect it right away."

Harry's mouth was hanging wide open as Ginny spoke, and when he finished he was at a loss for words.

"Do you have _any_ idea how much you sounded like Hermione just then?" Ron spoke from around a corner, and Ginny reactively stepped back from Harry.

"She's rubbing off on me, I guess." Ginny's face flushed a little.

"You know, I don't mind if you two get cozy. It's about time you made up, really. But maybe it could wait until some other time... the game's about to start."

With that, Ron gathered up his broom and motioned Harry and Ginny to follow. The rest of the team was already standing in formation outside the entrance to the Quidditch pitch, which had been erected to the former glory that Harry remembered from previous games. Harry used his happy memories of walking onto the Quidditch field to cast away any traces of the ideas of what Ginny might have intended on doing had Ron not appeared to save the day. He didn't know why he was suddenly so uncomfortable; perhaps the few months that had passed were long enough for everything to feel so very unnatural with her.

Before he could reach any conclusion, Harry was ushered through the marquee and onto the grass of the Quidditch pitch, which was covered in a thick frost that could have been mistaken as the first sheet of snow for the season. It crunched underfoot, and Harry instinctively cast a warming charm over everyone. The crowd was as loud as ever, though the sounds were restrained by the chill in the air. It reminded him a little of Dementors, and Harry found himself shivering despite the charm.

Madam Hooch released the balls as Gryffindor faced Slytherin on opposite sides of the centre pitch. He had to admit that the Slytherins did look glamorous in their sparkling green flying robes, enough so that they weren't really paying much attention to their opponents. The whistle blew, and he shot up into the air. It was when he was settled high above the spectators that he realised they had stopped cheering. Instead... silence. He didn't know what to make of it. The game had started and Dean had the quaffle. He was darting around, tossing the ball between himself and Ginny, and one of the Slytherin beaters tried to slug a bludger towards them. Luckily he missed, narrowly hitting one of his teammates. This gave just enough of an opening for Ginny to sink in the first goal, but still the stands were near enough to complete silence, except for a small handful of younger students talking loudly amongst themselves.

Harry noticed a couple of his teammates looking around for what seemed to be the source of a mass silencing charm, but his eyes suddenly met Candice's, and he saw nothing buy raw fury directed straight towards him. Before he could question it, Malfoy whizzed past him, trailing behind a familiar fleck of gold. Harry put on his game face and sped off in the direction of the other seeker, trying desperately to ignore the odd scene.

It was much easier to focus on the game once he set off once again, mostly because the wind rushing against his ears blocked out most of any other audible noise. However, Harry's flying became somewhat of a spectacle, and Ginny, Dean and Demelza managed to score another thirty points while all of the opposing team sat and watched Harry effortlessly catch up to Malfoy. Though he wouldn't figure it out until after the match, all eyes were on the Boy Who Lived and his hundred thousand Galleon broom.

Harry laughed as he tested the speed on his Mach 1, feeling almost a little nauseated as he felt his body rocketing forward with a momentum greater than he had ever experienced. It was certainly thrilling, and he flew past Malfoy swiftly, reaching out for the tiny gold ball teasingly hovering about them. Then, just as he had anticipated, it flitted away, and he had to pull hard to a halt to try to reorient himself and begin another search for the snitch.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing on that broom?" Malfoy said as he caught up to stop just metres from Harry.

Noting the look of shock on his face, Harry grinned, knowing that it was a good idea to keep this a secret up until now. "It's my new broom. I bought it a while back."

"How did you get your hands on a Mach 1, Potter? They're not even due for any shops until another two weeks. And they're bloody expensive. I couldn't even convince my father that it was worth getting one." Malfoy's tone was a mix of irritation and incredulity. Though Harry could understand where he was coming from, he was shocked that Malfoy was shocked. He was usually so guarded and unwilling to share any hint of emotion other than disgust.

"Do you like it?" Harry beamed.

"My father was clearly right about its value, considering you weren't able to catch the snitch straight away," Malfoy scoffed, avoiding the question.

"That was bound to happen anyway. Just because I have a faster broom doesn't mean I win automatically. I heard the snitch is capable of supersonic speed."

"What?"

His reaction was enough to make Harry laugh. To think that he knew something about a wizard's sport that the noble pure-blooded Draco Malfoy did not.

"You know," he panted through icy breaths after he calmed a little, "the magic lets it go faster than any broom, ever. The game's no fun otherwise."

"So that stupid gold ball has been toying with us?" A scowl formed on Malfoy's face, and he looked as though the world had thoroughly wronged him.

Harry couldn't help but laugh again. _Yep, Hermione was definitely right about him getting easily offended_, he thought.

"What's so funny?" Malfoy cried with such vigour that he had to lean forward and grasp his broom with both hands to keep upright.

"Nothing," Harry said, still trying to stifle down another round of laughter.

"Hey, Malfoy!"

A call came up from the main game below, where Candice was glaring once more. Or perhaps she had never stopped glaring - though Harry didn't know for sure, he wouldn't put it past her.

"Stop flirting with Potter and get back in the game!" She pointed in some lazy direction, but Harry saw right away the glinting flecks of gold against the frosty blue sky and rushed forward towards it, quickly followed by a fuming Malfoy.

* * *

The game, for Harry at least, was swift and exciting. Eventually some of the students managed to realise that they still had voices, and it wasn't long before the uproarious cheering echoed throughout the school grounds once more. Candice managed to somehow physically knock some sense into the other Slytherins – Harry swore he saw her backhand the monstrous sixth year twice her size who was positioned as Keeper – and there was soon some competition for the quaffle. Patrick and Jimmy, who had not bothered with anything more strenuous than simply hitting a bludger between themselves playfully, soon got into a rhythm with everyone else, and were visibly enjoying themselves as they ducked and dived around, striking with deadly accuracy.

But from the moment he had set off from the ground until his fingers clutched the cool gold exterior of the snitch, the crowd's eyes were all on Harry. It was all too easy, really. It didn't matter who saw the snitch, because Harry's broom was faster, and for the most part of the match he was alone in the air chasing the tiny gold ball. He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Malfoy, that it wasn't really fair for him to have that sort of advantage, which was probably why after the first ten minutes he started giving the Slytherin seeker a bit of a head start. Of course, he wasn't ever going to tell anyone that, not when he knew they'd think he was trying to almost deliberately throw the game. Besides, Harry was sure the Snitch had a mind of its own and only gave itself up when it wanted to, regardless of the speed of the seeker.

He gave a wary smile to the crowd below him, who all at once knew that the game had ended and responded with a change in pitch and an increase in volume. Glancing around, he noticed Malfoy had already retreated to the ground.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron called, making short work of the distance in the sky between them, and being the first of the team to do so. "That was amazing! I'm glad Slytherin played so poorly today. It gave me more time to watch you fly."

Harry couldn't help but grin more confidently now, knowing that his friend was on his side. "Why were you watching me?" he asked.

"Are you kidding mate? Your _broom_ is _amazing!_"

It was then that Harry noticed Ron was not staring at him, but rather the broom he was sitting upon.

"It's pretty good. Handles nicely," Harry muttered.

"More than nice, Harry. I'll have to ask Hermione for a word that sounds better than 'amazing', because that's what it is. Better than amazing."

Suddenly Harry felt the nervousness and discomfort that he had knew only too well from when he first discovered he was a wizard wash over him once more, realising that here was another thing that set him apart from the others – something else that distanced him from his dreams of normalcy. In his delusional subconscious he wished to throw down the broom and cast an _Incendio_ upon it in a mad hope to destroy the thing that made him the centre of attention, but he knew he could never do such a thing. He actually loved the broom more than anything he had for a long time, and it was comforting knowing that he had something, _anything _that could take his mind off of the harsh memories and still all-too-clear visions that echoed in his mind from back in Voldemort's second uprising.

He held his breath in hope that it would stop the nausea that announced itself so abruptly and waited for his team to stop brandishing him with cheerful hugs and handshakes high up in the sky so that he could touch down onto the ground and probably fall over.

"Did you see, Harry? I knocked him clear off his broom!" Patrick cried over the din, excited that he had managed to hit an opposing beater during the game. "Shame that chaser was where he was and caught him, otherwise he'd have hit the ground for sure!"

"Pat! You're sounding like one of those blasted Slytherins whose butts we just whooped," Dean scolded, seeing as Harry wasn't really paying much attention.

"S'not my fault he's such a creep! I remember, he's the one that tried to steal my Divination book a couple weeks ago!" Patrick defended.

"He what? Why would he do that?" Demelza laughed.

Patrick shrugged, but Ginny seemed to know the answer right away.

"One of his friends dared him to toss his own copy off of the Divination tower," she said knowingly, nodding for emphasis. "I guess he was too lazy to go all the way down to the garden beneath to get it back, so he took Pat's instead."

"_Tried_ to!" Patrick corrected.

"Ginny, you're acting so strange." Ron said accusingly, finally taking his eyes off of Harry's broom. "You sound just like Hermione."

"You said that already today."

"Yeah, and I'll say it again! What's gotten into you?"

Ginny fumbled with her words as she struggled to get a proper grip on her broom. "I-I just..."

"Spit it out!"

"You're such a prat Ron!" She disentangled herself from the circle they had formed and flew off towards the ground. Harry thought he could see tears falling onto her face, but he wasn't sure with the light fog clouding the sky.

"Oh bollocks," Ron grumbled, and Harry decided that it was a good time for everyone to be out of the sky.

When they touched down Harry was met by a mass of students of all houses, and even some of the younger Slytherins were surprisingly keen to shake his hand. He saw Luna approach, her lion hat swaying well above the crowd and roaring gleefully and used the confusion it caused to wade through the people towards her.

"That was quite some fancy flying," she said serenely when she was finally in earshot. "Congratulations."

"Thanks Luna."

For the first time, Harry felt that he could actually take the compliment paid to him in his stride, knowing that it was for him and not the ridiculously expensive accessory he was carrying beside him.

"It's a shame Hermione missed it though," she added with a distant look on her face.

"What do you mean?"

"We were supposed to meet by the Great Hall, but she never showed up. I guessed she must have gotten caught up in the Ancient Runes essay she was working on this morning, so I left without her."

Harry was a little confused by this, as Hermione always gave up her free time to watch Harry and Ron play Quidditch. It was only three times a year, after all, and even though she didn't really get the sport she still attended as if it were tradition.

"Where did you see her last?" he asked, suddenly growing worried.

"I didn't, but Ginny told me she was working in the library and that it was best to leave her undisturbed."

"_Ginny?_" Harry gasped, and he was swiftly hit by some sort of epiphany, which only made the nausea from all the attention around him grow into something much more uncomfortable.

He turned to find Ron, who was hidden somewhere deep amongst the sea of red and gold. Harry pushed his way through the crowd – oh why did it seem like every single student enrolled in Hogwarts was on the field right there and then? - and finally stumbled into a mess of red hair. Ron was talking proudly to a younger Gryffindor student, but stopped abruptly when Harry grabbed his arm and swung him around.

"Hey, what was that for? I was telling him about-"

"Have you seen Hermione?" Harry interrupted, his face looking very pale. Ron took one look and stopped in his tracks.

"What? Hermione?"

"Yes. Have you seen her?" Harry was growing impatient, and Ron wasn't doing anything to help.

"I was just about to go looking for her. She's probably chatting with Neville or something," Ron replied airily, his face scrunched a little as he tried to inspect Harry's.

"How about Ginny? Did you see where she went after you yelled at her?"

"I didn't yell at her."

"Yes but-"

"I was just saying she was acting strange."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. Strange. I get that. But do you know where she is?"

Ron stared for a moment, his mind probably working furiously over the noise of everything else to make sense of what was going on. "Harry? What's happened?" he asked sheepishly.

Understanding that Ron knew nothing, Harry threw his free hand in the air in frustration. Looking around, he could see that although most of the crowd was still standing around talking, he could not see the handle of Ginny's broom sticking through the mass of heads, nor her red hair amongst them. It would have been much easier, though, if it hadn't been such a foggy, frosty day.

"Here, look after this," he sighed, thrusting his broom into Ron's hand and thus freeing his own. This made it much easier to manoeuvre through the field, and he did just that.

"Harry, wait! What's happened with Ginny and Hermione?" Ron called, but he was too late in doing so, and the other students' voices went right over his own before the words reached Harry's ears.

* * *

It wasn't right, Harry just knew it. He wasn't sure what exactly, but his gut instincts had been progressively sharpened ever since his first year at Hogwarts, and now he could just sense when things were out of place without even knowing for sure. Even Ginny had said that he was usually right about these things.

He had run to the castle, still in his Quidditch robes, and his shin guards and long cloak made it more difficult for him to climb the stone stairs. The only thing that mattered at that point in time was getting to the library and making sure Hermione was okay.

"Please not again, please not again..." he mumbled to himself as he ran along the corridor leading to the library, hoping desperately that this was all just a false alarm, that he was so used to chaos that he was creating the illusion of it, and this was _not_ the beginning of _another_ 'adventure', like every year before had been.

Harry flung open the doors and ran into the corner of the library that he knew Hermione frequented, where shelves of books towered over and around a small desk off to the side and offered a suitable buffer to the noise of other students flicking through pages and whispering to each other. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her sitting in the chair before him, facing away and reading a book. Harry moved to sit on the chair to the right of her to catch his breath.

"Hermione, you had me worried for a minute," he panted, his head searching the room for any other signs of life. "Why weren't you at the match today?"

There was no response, and she seemed to be sitting quite still. Perhaps she was reading, but even so, she was usually so adept at multitasking and participating in conversations even when enthralled by a text.

"Hermione?" Harry questioned, finally turning to look at her more carefully.

Her hair was pushed forward, and he had to brush it aside to see her face. He wished that he hadn't though, as he dropped his hand down quickly after he moved her hair.

Hermione's face was pale and looked cold, her eyes unmoving, and expression bare. It was as if she was a mannequin, a copy of herself, but Harry knew she would never condone this sort of practical joke. His eyes slid down to her hand, which was resting on the side of the book she was reading at some point. It too was as pale as her face. Pulling off a leather glove, he reached down to touch her knuckles, and cringed when he noticed she was cold.

What was the most terrifying of all, though, was not that Hermione was sitting in the library – alone – frozen in time and cold as a cadaver, but what was sitting in font of her. A small pocket mirror that Harry recognised to be Ginny's was resting on the middle of the book. Curiously, he walked over to the other side of the table and peered into the mirror. Hermione's eyes stared blankly back at him through it.

A myriad of memories came rushing to him at once, and it all became far too much to bear. Harry clutched his hands in his hair, pulling at the windblown locks frantically. His legs gave out, and he slumped to the floor without anything to slow the fall. One leg had bended painfully underneath the weight of his body, but it was not nearly as painful as the thoughts and ideas that were running, no... spinning in his head.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware._

"Hermione?" he cried, looking up at the lifeless body bent over the desk. "Hermione..."

Tears dropped onto his cheeks one by one, until it seemed that the torrent would never end. His head ached and his eyes were sore, and all that he could do was call out helplessly and cry. Harry lowered his head to the ground and punched the floor, which turned out to be not a very wise idea; his hand began to sting like his eyes, and he cradled it, noticing a small trickle of blood coming from a scratch on his knuckles.

It took a long time for Harry to calm down enough to be able to collect his thoughts, and once he did he immediately felt guilty for acting in such a way in front of Hermione – even if she couldn't actually see him. With one final sob, he wiped his face on the sleeve of his robe and stood up shakily, his eyes glued on Hermione's body.

"It doesn't make sense," he muttered to himself as he warily stepped up to the desk. "I killed the basilisk. How did this happen?"

He knew he had to find help, tell McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey, or even Ron, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Hermione. Instead, he sat back down on the chair that he had left skewed by the desk and rested his hand atop her cold, unflinching one. Try as he might, Harry couldn't think of any explanation for why Hermione appeared to be petrified, or why Ginny's mirror was lying in front of her...

"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed to the bookshelves around him, as he remembered the other half of his fear.

She only appeared right before the match was set to start, and when she did she was acting so strangely. Ron even compared her to Hermione... which made everything all the more curious.

_But... it's Ginny_, he thought to himself, trying to find some reassurance in her name. Maybe if they hadn't had that fight in the car just before heading to Hogwarts, he would have actually been able to trust in that... but everything concerning her had just been so awkward lately. Not to mention, when she tried to crush his hand from the thought that he didn't believe what she was saying.

"Hermione," he spoke softly, as if she were able to hear him but was oh, so fragile. "Why did you have to do this again? You know we're hopeless without you."

* * *

It was at least an hour before anyone entered the library, the banging of the door stirring Harry from some kind of restless sleep that had overtaken him after exhaustion had weakened his will.

Loud footsteps clicked against the stone floor, and it seemed almost as if they were heading determinedly straight for Hermione's little spot amongst the shelves. Harry braced himself as best as he could, imagining that this must be the perpetrator returning to the scene of the crime. He pulled his wand from beneath his cloak, gripping it tightly with one hand while he kept the other clutched against Hermione's cold skin.

The footsteps stopped as Ginny turned the corner, looking just as shocked as Harry thought he must have.

"H-Harry, what are you... doing here?" she stammered uncomfortably, her eyes darting between Harry and Hermione.

"Never mind that, Ginny. What are _you_ doing here?" Harry's voice was cold and harsh, but the emotion was so much more real than when he had feigned it towards Candice earlier that morning.

"I came to get my mirror." Ginny's eyes were whirring in their sockets, and Harry could tell she was panicking. Of course, the look on his face wasn't helping.

He reluctantly let go of Hermione for a moment to reach for the small white mirror. "This?" he waved it up at Ginny.

Harry noticed she had started wringing her hands. "Yeah. She... borrowed it this morning."

"Was that before you came to Quidditch?"

"Yeah. We were talking about..."

Harry's eyes narrowed as Ginny trailed off and stared at the ground, reluctant to finish her sentence. Fumbling for a change of topic, she looked up and asked a question to Hermione about how her Ancient Runes study was coming along.

"She's not going to answer you," Harry scoffed, tossing the mirror back onto the desk and turning away from Ginny.

"What? Why?"

"Don't tell me you don't know, Ginny!" She stepped forward and tried to rest her hand on Harry's shoulder, but he batted her off. "Don't you _touch_ me!"

He spat the words with as much disgust as he could muster, and stood up from the chair to dramatically distance himself from the redhead. She looked visibly disturbed, her eyes twinkling with the beginnings of tears.

"Harry, what is going on?" she asked quietly, although a few octaves higher than usual.

"You tell me! You were the last one to see her. Chances are you caused this." Harry's arms shot in the direction of Hermione, his palms spread out. "Why did you do it? Were you jealous? Is that why you were acting like her this morning?"

The words burned as he shouted them, but he couldn't stop them. Before he knew it, he was crying once more, though for a much different reason than Ginny.

"I didn't do anything to Hermione!" Ginny yelled back, her face beginning to pink as her wariness changed to anger at the hurtfulness of Harry's words. "What are you even talking – _Oh!_"

Ginny must have been carrying something that Harry hadn't noticed before, because it came crashing to the floor and shattered in a million pieces. She had taken another couple steps forward to a position with a full view of Hermione's frozen pose at the desk. Her hands flew up to her mouth, tears forgotten along with her package.

"_What happened?_" she breathed, forgetting that Harry was still acting very dangerous and was so very close to her.

Harry ignored her obviously feigned look of shock. "You tell me!"

"I-I... I don't know... she's frozen!"

"She's _petrified!_" The shout made Ginny jump.

She whimpered loudly, and the tears resumed. "No... it can't be... not again... Harry..."

Ginny stumbled towards Harry pleadingly, but he pushed her off forcefully, moving to sit back down with Hermione. "I said _don't touch me_."

He didn't notice her stand there and stare at him, still whimpering, so it wasn't any surprise to him when she had left the room. A short while later it was filled with solemn looking faces of some of the staff, but he was too busy clutching Hermione's still hand and trying to _will_ her back.

"Harry."

A hand was set upon his shoulder and he jumped. Afraid that it was Ginny once more, his face scowled and he lifted his wand to the neck of whoever was bending down to him.

"That is hardly something that a student should do to their Headmistress, Mr Potter." A face frowned at him, and realising it was McGonagall he almost dropped the wand completely.

"Professor," he breathed, "Hermione..."

"I can see perfectly well. Now if you'll let go of her, we'll escort her to the Hospital wing."

Harry did as she said and slowly rose from the chair. As he did so, he noticed the concerned looks of Madams Pomfrey and Pince, as well as Professors Rosewood and Flitwick, who were in a corner talking to a frightened looking Ginny.

A lightening charm was cast upon Hermione's stiff body, and McGonagall and Pomfrey carefully lifted her in the air.

"I'm coming with you!" Harry cried as he saw them begin to leave.

McGonagall stopped and turned to him, a grave look still on her face. "No, Mr Potter. You are to go up to your dormitory and _rest_. You've had a long day."

"No, I want to-"

"_Harry_. Let us handle this."

"But Hermione-"

"Trust us for once, will you!"

Harry wasn't sure if it was the amount of frustration in her voice, or the overwhelming exhaustion overcoming him that stopped him from running after them. In the end he decided it was probably best to go and warn Ron. Heck, Ron was _dating_ Hermione, and considering Harry had reacted so strongly... it was better for him to be there for his friend.

Professor Rosewood offered to usher Harry back to Gryffindor Tower, but he refused to do so until Ginny skulked off after another row. He was too confused to put any meaning to the happenings of that day, but he did know that Ginny was probably the last person to see Hermione, and then she was... petrified.


	14. Opening the Chamber

_Chapter Fourteen - Opening the Chamber_

* * *

"I don't believe it."

Ron shifted his weight uncomfortably, trying to hide the fact that his body had started shaking uncontrollably. It was just his hands at first, which he tucked under his arms, but then they too were spasming a little.

He was sitting on the lounge in the common room, talking excitedly with a few other Gryffindors who were willing to hear his glorified rants about how excellent the Quidditch team was this year, when Harry had appeared, being pushed along by Professor Rosewood. He looked as though he had seen a Dementor, and the Professor carried herself in a way that was not like her usual chirpy self.

"Where'd you get to?" Ron asked, curiosity filling his mind as he remembered how Harry had run off on him a couple hours before. "You missed lunch, and the celebration. There was even a cake!"

Ron thought he heard Harry mutter something about the library, but it was so quiet that he wasn't even sure if Harry had said anything at all.

"Harry, what is it? Does it have anything to do with why you ran off earlier? Where's Hermione?"

Harry looked up into Ron's eyes, his face blank and lifeless. It was startling, and reminded Ron of all those times when Harry had to carry the horcrux locket they all hated so much.

Ron gulped. "Tell me you found Hermione?"

It was then that Harry simply keeled over, his hands grasping at Ron's shoulders for support. He buried his head into Ron's silly knitted jumper that his mother had made and cried.

"Harry? You're scaring me..." Ron let one hand clasp Harry's back awkwardly, understanding he needed some sort of support, but not knowing quite what for.

_Wait a minute..._

A gear seemed to click into place in Ron's mind, and he looked down at Harry. "Did something happen to Hermione?"

Harry went rigid, and Ron couldn't bring himself to think anything on the contrary.

"Harry! Tell me!" His voice changed, and he needed to know what was going on, right this instant. He pushed Harry off of him and held his shoulders tightly, urging Harry to look into his eyes. "What's happened to Hermione?"

"P..." Harry looked as though he was having a hard time speaking the word, almost as if it were cursed.

"What?"

"P... p-petrified." He seemed to slump over from the effort he used to speak.

"Petrified? What, you mean like..."

"Basilisk."

"_What!_" Ron jumped out of the lounge, and that was when he started to feel his hands shake. "_Another one!"_

"I don't know!"

"Where was she?"

"In the library... there was a mirror."

"Thank Merlin she's not dead, Harry! Why didn't she _tell_ us?" He folded his hands under his arms cautiously to cover up the tremors.

"I don't think she knew. It was like it came to her, not the other way 'round." Harry shrugged heavily.

"But there aren't any pipes around the library!"

"Well something petrified her! Or someone..."

Ron saw Harry look away towards the fire as if he was hiding something; now was not the time to be keeping secrets.

"Harry. What is it? Harry, look at me." He would have walked back to the couch to nudge him, but his legs wouldn't move.

"Ginny..." Harry muttered.

"What?"

Harry sighed again and looked up at Ron. "It was Ginny's mirror."

Ron's body relaxed ever so slightly. "Thank goodness for that! Just think what would have happened if she hadn't given it to Hermione-"

"Ginny was the last person to see her... and she came to the library after I found her... I think... I don't know."

"_What_?" It was all that Ron could muster up, and it felt like he was a cracked record skipping a beat, repeating the same thing over and over.

"I don't know Ron... I don't know what to think any more." Harry's head slung forward and he stared at the ground for a long time.

After a long period of silence, Ron realised that he was shaking once more.

"I don't believe it."

* * *

Ron and Harry both skipped dinner that evening, sitting next to each other in some sort of dazed silence, neither one knowing what else to do. They weren't allowed in the infirmary, and all feelings of triumph from the Quidditch match had dissipated. Students walked by offering their congratulations to them on the big win that morning and they nodded in return, but they weren't really paying attention.

It was past seven in the evening when Ginny stepped in from the portrait, Ron noticing her before she had the chance to turn around and retreat. She looked guilty more than anything, and it rattled Ron. Ever since they admitted their feelings for each other, Hermione moving in, and them sharing classes with the other Gryffindors a year younger than them, Ginny and Hermione's friendship had grown quite strong. Hermione talked about books while Ginny nattered on about boys, but despite their differences they seemed to have some sort of unspoken understanding of one another.

But now...

Harry and Ron were both miserable, unable to speak or move or even think without putting in some extra effort. But Ginny... she definitely seemed put off by the day's events, but it didn't seem to affect her nearly as much as it should have. Ron knew. He was, after all, her closest big brother.

With a shuffling of feet, Ginny turned and made a run for the portrait, and Ron decided then and there that he would find out exactly what was going on. Ignoring that he had lost most feeling in his legs, he jumped up from the couch and chased after her. She had managed to make it outside, but he was taller than her; his legs were longer, more powerful, and so he caught up with her quite easily.

"Ginny!" he cried, his sister yelping as he grabbed her hand from the air, pulling her to a halt. "Ginny, don't tell me you-"

"I didn't do _anything_ Ron!" She squealed and struggled to free herself from his grip meaninglessly.

"Then why? Why did you run?" Ron was panting, but he wasn't out of breath from his short sprint.

"Because Harry-"

"Harry what? He found out?"

"He thinks it was me!"

"And was it you?"

"_No!_" She pulled away with such force that her arm finally slipped out of Ron's hand. She made to run away again when Ron touched her wrist once more, this time lightly and without any clenched fingers.

"Then why did you run?"

Ginny looked up at her brother, her eyes glittering brown, like a stream flowing over a bed of pebbles.

"Gin, tell me. What happened?"

Ron's willingness to actually listen to her seemed to light a fire inside of Ginny that burned with sheer desperation. She stepped back to the stone wall of the corridor, glancing around for any students who might be returning from their evening activities. Finding they were alone, she slid down the wall to rest her back against it, and Ron did the same to sit next to her.

She was crying for real now, and Ron felt powerless to do anything to help her, not until he was sure that Harry was wrong, and Ginny hadn't actually done anything to put Hermione in danger.

"I came to see her after I was let out of the infirmary. She was studying in the library before breakfast," she began. "She told me that it was better for her, because you and Harry wouldn't want her around when you were talking Quidditch."

Ron frowned, but Ginny raised her hand to continue, so he let her.

"I've been... worried... about Harry. I feel so foolish for yelling at him back then in the car... and now he doesn't want me anymore."

Her words were softly spoken, and Ron felt protective of her once more. He lifted a hand to touch her arm gently. "Of course he does, Gin. He's just -"

"He doesn't. Believe me, I've been trying. He just stares off into the window and acts like I don't exist. So I asked Hermione for help."

"What could she _possibly_ have to tell you about boys that you don't already know?" Ron was genuinely intrigued.

"He listens to her, Ron! When Hermione speaks, everyone else stops and listens! I want to be like that. For Harry, at least."

"Is that why you were acting like such a bloody know-it-all today?"

Ginny slapped the side of his arm just hard enough to make a sound. She looked down at her hands as she wrung them together – something she had been doing all day – and blushed a little, sniffing.

"Then why did she have your mirror? And don't you dare tell me you were teaching her how to put on that stupid makeup you bloody girls like to wear. Its so... unnatural!"

Ginny hiccoughed, which may have been an attempt at a laugh. "No, she had ink all over her face. I accidentally knocked her inkpot. Some of the ink got onto her arm, and she must have brushed it against her forehead at some point. She looked like a leopard, with smudges and spots all over her face."

Ron leaned back into the wall, folding his arms tightly.

"When you left..?" he trailed off, hoping that his sister would pick up the sentence.

"It was still a half hour to the game. She said she would be right down."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you going to tell Harry? I don't think he's in any state to believe you. For a moment there I might not have believed you. I'm just so sick of all of this. Why can't we have a normal year that doesn't involve the infirmary?"

"Seems like we're cursed. And Harry... I was hoping you could tell him." She shifted slightly, still looking down.

"Don't drag me into this, Gin. That's not fair."

"Ron, he'll listen to you. Maybe if you talk to him he'll eventually forgive me. Oh God, I've blown it, haven't I?"

They sat in silence together for a long while, until the sound of footsteps and laughter trailed along the hallway from the staircase. Ron's body ached against the cold stone wall and floor, and he found that his legs had fallen asleep once again when he tried to wrench himself off of the ground. He winced at the pins and needles in his legs, but they were a welcome change in feeling compared to the pit of despair that was hollowing itself deep in his insides.

Ginny tugged at his sleeve just as he was beginning to walk away, and he turned to look down at her still sitting on the ground.

"What am I going to do, Ron?"

"There's only one thing to do. We have to solve the mystery."

Ginny's eyes widened with Ron could only interpret as fear. He knew that he had only told her of the hard and desperate times in his so called 'adventures' with Harry and Hermione while they were at school, and now he felt that perhaps making up what muggles referred to as 'ghost stories' was not the best idea.

Still, he knew that once he could stand again, Harry would be slipping out late that night under his invisibility cloak and breaking all the rules once more. And Ron would be right there by his side, just like old times. At least this time they had somewhere to start.

"Oh and Ginny," Ron remembered something just before he left. "Everyone listens to Hermione because she's the brightest witch of her age. And because of everything she's done. Harry trusts her because she earned it... and he'll trust you again. You just need to have some faith."

* * *

Ron appeared back at Harry's side just as the younger students started piling into the common room to get ready for bed, though, like with Ginny, he didn't notice at all. They sat together like they did that afternoon, and Harry's mind swirled with memories of his second year at school and all of the awful things that had happened as a result of it. He was so entranced in his own thoughts that he didn't hear Ron eventually speaking to him.

"Harry," Ron muttered for what must have been at least the third or fourth time, going by the look on his face.

"Yeah?" Harry replied airily, still not quite back into reality of the world that was before him.

"Do you want me to get the invisibility cloak?"

Harry turned his head to face his friend, his head leaning in slightly to the unexpected words. "What do you mean?"

"We have to go back down there, to check it out. See if it's safe."

"Go back there..."

"You know," Ron moved closer to avoid any unsuspecting eavesdroppers, "the Chamber..."

"Oh, I guess we should."

To be perfectly honest, Harry hadn't thought of much at all during his time on the lounge, and the mention of the Chamber was fairly unsettling. What was more, he hardly expected it to be Ron who would be jumping at the first opportunity to go sneaking around looking for trouble – he was always the first person to try to back out.

Ron shifted in the seat next to him. "Harry, you _were_ going to go look in the Chamber, weren't you?" He sounded put off by Harry's previous response.

"Yeah... yeah, of course Ron." Harry looked up to meet his eyes and the intensity that stared back at him was uncomfortable, to say the least. He paused, fumbling at his words, though this was mostly because his mind was severely lagging behind everything else and he could hardly think straight at all. "To be honest, I don't really know what to do... but I guess that I'd end up at the Chamber eventually."

Ron didn't look too pleased, but Harry was relieved when his friend accepted the excuse anyway.

"We've got to help Hermione..." Ron trembled. "I... I love her, Harry."

"Yeah I love her too Ron," Harry managed a weak smile mirroring Ron's.

"No, I _love_ her."

It wasn't surprising, really, but this was the first time Ron had ever mentioned that specific emotion without being under the influence of a love spell, so it took a minute for this to register in Harry's dragging mind. Of course, this was why Ron was actually so keen to make the first move, and why, even though he seemed terrified at the idea, he was pushing Harry to join the motion. There could have also been some underlying guilt nudging him along, most of them associated with his aggravated departure back before they had managed to destroy their first horcrux, but Harry didn't want to pull his memories back to that day. Some things were better left forgotten.

They waited until the rest of the students had all wandered off to bed, Harry and Ron following Neville and Dean up to their own room and settling into their beds quite deliberately. They had decided to wait a full hour before stirring once more, just to make sure that their friends were actually asleep, as Seamus seemed to be suffering from insomnia recently due to unhappy times at home, and the unhappy letters that resulted.

When the moment arrived, Harry and Ron pulled themselves out of their beds as quietly as possible and ducked to pull Harry's invisibility cloak over them. It was funny how it had once draped voluminously around them, when now both men had to duck down substantially for it to cover their shoes. In the end they settled for letting their ankles show while they walked through the empty corridors so that they could actually make it there with some time on their side.

The walk to the abandoned bathroom on the second floor was silent with the aid of charms to mute their footsteps, and seemed to take much longer than what was necessary. By the time they finally reached the heavy wooden door they both pushed forward with breaths of relief, accidentally slamming it shut behind them. They didn't even bother to check that they were alone before shrugging off the cloak, and when Harry turned around he was greeted by a somewhat familiar scene.

"What are you doing here?" Draco Malfoy called to them from a dark corner in the room, and Harry thought he caught a glimpse of Moaning Myrtle darting away in the corner of his eye.

As Harry stood shocked, Ron was the first to reply. "We could say the same for you, Malfoy."

"I don't want to fight," Harry stammered quickly, raising his hands in the air as if surrendering.

Ron looked between the two, his face changing from spite to confusion with each turn of his head. He didn't know what had happened... but Harry wasn't willing to give an encore performance.

Malfoy, who was sitting on the floor casually, stood up and took a few paces towards them. Harry took one step backwards.

"Scared, Potter?" The words held some deeper meaning, but Harry couldn't quite place why.

"Of course we're not scared of you, Malfoy." Ron spat and showed a fire in his eyes as he progressed towards the Slytherin to make his point.

Harry stumbled forward and grabbed Ron's arm, pulling his wand backwards so that no spell could be cast. "_No!_ Ron, I'm not here for a fight."

He looked up to see that Malfoy was smirking at them in his own self-possessed manner as usual, though Harry knew it was all just a mask. There was no way that he could be so calm like this of his own free will, other than having some foolish determination to rile Ron, not when he had been so worried when Harry had dragged him to the sixth floor for their first secret duel.

The air was stagnant and Ron glared at Malfoy for a moment, before dropping his wand. "You're right. We've got stuff to do," he muttered, and Harry felt himself exhale a breath that he didn't realise he had been holding the whole time.

"'Stuff to do', 'eh? Oh, do tell, Potter." Malfoy's face lit up, although the general expression remained the same.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," Harry groaned. "Why don't you just go back to your dorm before Slughorn finds you out of bed and gives you a detention."

"Ha! I bet this is about Granger, isn't it?"

Ron froze. "_What did you say?_"

Beyond Harry, Ron and Ginny, no other student had yet been informed of Hermione's petrification, and they all assumed that she was off in some quiet corner studying contently as she usually did. Of course, that didn't mean Malfoy had his own sneaky ways of finding out things, and of all the people for Harry to suspect knowing, it would have been him.

Whilst Harry was trying to figure out exactly how Malfoy had managed to get his hands on this information, Ron had resumed his advance, his arm free of Harry's grip, and wand poised dangerously towards the Slytherin's face.

"It was _you_, wasn't it?" Ron spat, his face, which had been pale all evening, now bubbling red with his rising temper.

Malfoy took a few brisk steps back, finding himself in a corner. It was at that moment that he shed his mocking look and let Ron and Harry see in his face the fear that Ron Weasley was about to hex him into the next century.

"Ron!" Harry ran forward and attempted to grab his arm again, but Ron batted him away.

Ron shouted to nothing in particular, though his eyes were fixed on Malfoy's. "He did it! It must have been him!"

"We don't know that-"

"He's a Death Eater! Remember when the Chamber opened the first time?"

Harry tried to grab Ron again, but to no avail. He was starting to get frustrated. "He didn't do it! That was Tom Riddle!"

"Yeah, but Malfoy _liked _that it was happening. You remember! You were there when he was talking about muggleborns!"

A flash of confusion appeared on Malfoy's face, but was quickly dissolved when Ron shoved his wand in his face.

"We were _twelve, _Ron!" Harry pleaded. He did not want this scene to end the same way it had last time; he did not want to have that blood on his hands.

"Yeah, well we're eighteen now, and the cocky bastard didn't learn his lesson the first time!"

Harry had to think fast, his mind reeling as he tried to wrestle Ron from his position pinning Malfoy in the corner.

"Ron, no! He's not worth it!"

Ron was about to cast a spell, his mouth beginning to move when Harry shouted. It caused him to physically stop, turning to look at Harry. It was in this tiny space of time that Malfoy forced Ron's arm upwards, his wand now pointing towards the roof, and kneed him deftly in the crotch. Ron doubled over instantly, and for once he was speechless. With a glint in his eye, the blonde stomped on one of Ron's feet, and that sent him toppling to the ground.

Harry had to run over and position himself between the two to prevent any more harm that Malfoy was about to inflict.

"What... what'd you do... that for?" Ron gasped through shaky breaths, his face resting against the stone floor as his body curled sideways in a foetal position.

"That was for shoving your wand in my face, you bloody brute," Malfoy scoffed, making sure that Ron knew he was looking down his nose at him over Harry's shoulder.

"It was for good reason... you... you... Death Eater."

"Would you two just stop it?" Harry shouted, finally having endured enough.

Making sure that Malfoy had no intention causing any more harm, Harry kneeled over to Ron, though keeping his eyes on the Slytherin at all times. Malfoy gave a jeering look, as if trying to egg Harry on, but he would not give in to the pathetic bait. He held out a hand and dragged Ron to a more comfortable sitting position, though Ron still cradled his body.

Menacing looks were thrown across the room, though Malfoy did not make any attempt to leave. Finally, when Ron had recovered enough to stand, he started yelling again.

"Why are you so keen to blame my sister for all of this, but you don't want to look at the obvious answer?"

Harry hadn't expected that question to come up. "You had to be there Ron. She just looked so guilty."

"What, and that prat doesn't look guilty?" Ron fired.

"She was involved with the Chamber last time, and so was Hermione. It makes sense when you think about it. He wasn't."

"But Ginny didn't do anything!"

Harry fumbled with his wand in his hand, trying to find some distraction, but couldn't. "Yeah you said that, and that's why we're here. We'll find out who did it and when we're certain, I'll personally kick their teeth in regardless of if they're a friend or not."

Ron managed to catch his breath while Harry was speaking and straightened up, sighing. "I'm just so sick of this shit."

"Me too, mate," Harry agreed.

The two stood there in silence and turned back to Malfoy.

"What are you even doing here, Malfoy?" Ron called.

He had crept back to the corner of the room and was listening silently, perhaps hoping they would forget about him. "Personal reasons that are completely none of your business."

"Yeah right, like I'm going to believe that."

Ron and Malfoy stood glaring at each other in the pale light of the bathroom. Harry sighed, and finally Malfoy cracked.

"I want to see the Chamber," he said at last.

Harry and Ron both spluttered, "What?"

"I've always wanted to see the Chamber that Salazar Slytherin created," he said pointedly.

Harry frowned. "Do it in your own time then."

"I know that the Chamber is here, but it is also a common fact that you are the only person who has been able to actually get in for decades, besides that other Weasley bint, though that was purely the will of... well... you know."

"Don't talk about my sister like that," Ron growled, and had he not still been uneasy on his feet, he probably would have closed the gap once more and thrown a couple punches.

Malfoy was standing proudly now, as if his confidence alone would be enough to encourage Harry to take him along. "How else am I supposed to talk about her? Everything I said was true."

"Why you-"

"In case you need reminding, Weasley," Malfoy raised his voice to overpower Ron's, "I _am_ a prefect, and I'm sure that catching you two out after curfew, and with intentions of entering the Chamber of Secrets, no less, I could easily give you a detention for every remaining night until Christmas."

Ron stopped in his tracks, and Harry looked at him quizzically. "Can he actually do that?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron gulped. "I think he can."

There was an exchange of looks between friends, and eventually Harry shrugged his shoulders and let out a loud sigh.

"You definitely had nothing to do with Hermione?" Harry asked Malfoy sternly.

"Not a thing," the blonde's eyes were gleaming.

Ron laughed darkly. "I still don't believe you."

"I don't doubt that."

"How did you know we'd be here?" Ron asked forcefully.

"Come on, the moment I heard about _another_ Basilisk I knew you two would be creeping around up here tonight. I've actually been waiting for a few hours for you two to get your sorry behinds up here."

Another sigh escaped Harry's mouth and he uttered the words he expected he wouldn't actually be able to say. "Alright, come on then. But if you so much as make a sudden movement, I doubt I could disagree with whatever story Ron decides on to cover up your gruesome magical malady."

His green eyes pierced right through Malfoy's grey ones, and for a moment he thought he could sense honest curiosity in them.

Malfoy nodded, and Harry warily walked up to the sink with the snake decoration. Concentrating, he opened his mouth and... nothing.

"Oh, right," he mumbled.

"What's wrong Harry?" Ron was behind him, trying his best to look anxious at the same time as looking over his shoulder to keep an eye on Malfoy.

"I forgot, I can't speak Parseltongue anymore." Harry looked up and scratched his head.

"Bollocks. Of course you can, you've always been able to!"

"Yeah well... ever since Voldemort died..." Harry mused at the fact that Malfoy still flinched a little at that name.

It took a moment for Ron to put the pieces together, but Harry wanted to speak of it as little as possible. "You mean the whole thing with you being a horcrux?" Ron asked warily.

"_You_ were a _horcrux?_" Malfoy decided to enter the conversation, his hand pointing towards Harry in amazement.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Surprise."

"What else haven't you told the press?" If Harry hadn't still been so touchy about the subject, he would've laughed at the idea of Draco Malfoy being actually interested in his life story, because that would have pretty much answered the question.

"I've told them everything that concerns them, and the same goes for you as well."

Harry turned to Ron, allowing his hostilities to dissipate as he pretended to not be embarrassed by the slip of his memory.

"It's okay, I can do this." Ron clapped his hands together as if psyching himself up. "Remember back when Hermione and I got the Basilisk fangs?"

Harry stood back slightly and watched as Ron forced out strange hisses and snarls, wondering if he ever sounded anything like that. The sounds disagreed with his ears, and it was no wonder that so many students had been afraid of him in their second year.

Two minutes of hissing and screeching later, the sink shuddered with a click and the opening revealed itself. Ron beamed with pride as Harry tried not to pull a face at the sounds. Though they didn't see him, Malfoy had completely dropped his guard and looked completely bewildered.

"Right," Harry said, turning towards Malfoy, and catching a tiny view of the unmasked Slytherin just as his face stiffened once more. "You're first."


	15. Deprimo

_Chapter Fifteen - Deprimo_

* * *

"Oof!" Harry hit the ground hard and clouds of dust wafted up into the air to join the damp, dark haze in the Corridor. He was the third and final person to go down the chute, and could vaguely make out the other two bodies standing around him. Ron leaned over to offer Harry a hand up and he took it gladly.

"_Lumos," _Malfoy cast the charm around them to reveal a dilapidated ruin lying in front, with piles of rubble from floor to ceiling.

"Wow," Ron murmured. "This place certainly has changed."

Harry dusted his trousers with his hands and adjusted his glasses. What used to be the Corridor of Secrets, a grand open passageway leading to the Chamber of Secrets, was now mostly collapsed and covered with dust.

"_This_ is what all the fuss was about?" Malfoy scoffed. "What a waste of time."

"No," Harry lifted a hand in the air for quiet, "I can see an opening... over there."

He pointed towards the back of the crumbled room, where a glint of light sparkled hopefully. Together the three trudged through the rocky ground and discovered a relatively small hole that had formed from a tumbled column lying precariously on top of a pile, preventing other junk from falling to the ground. Harry stuck his head cautiously through and thought he could make out the giant door to the Chamber just out of view.

"Through there," he said.

"What are we supposed to do, climb through?" Malfoy scoffed again.

"What do you expect? There's no other way. Afraid you'll get your robes dirty?" Ron snickered.

"Stand back and let me handle this." Malfoy flicked the _Lumos_ charm from his wand and into the room where it hovered overhead. He then took a casting stance and began to wave another spell. "_Depri_-"

"_NO!_" Harry lunged and tackled Malfoy into the ground before he could fire off the spell.

"What was that for Potter!?" Malfoy shouted in Harry's face while he still had the Slytherin pinned.

"Did you even stop and look at what's around us Malfoy? There's barely anything holding this room together! Do you know what would have happened had you actually blasted a spell through that hole?" Harry yelled as he struggled to keep the fidgeting man beneath him still.

"Yeah!" Malfoy replied. "I would've made a larger hole!"

Ron stood behind them looking gobsmacked at the whole affair. "You are mental, Malfoy! This whole place is about to collapse on its own, let alone with you blasting spells all over the place!"

"You don't know what's down here. It's dangerous!" Harry said, dropping his voice a little as he realised how close he was to Malfoy. "If you want to act like that you can just go back to the dungeons and pretend this never happened."

"Yeah!" Ron agreed. "We're here to help Hermione. It won't do much good if we end up getting suffocated by the Chamber before we even get there! In fact, why don't you just get up and leave. Exit's that way." Ron pointed in a vague direction and then folded his arms.

Harry saw Malfoy's face begin to pale and his eyes were watering. He loosened his grip and the Slytherin managed to push away and stand back up again.

"Okay! Fine!" Malfoy coughed as he breathed in a cloud of murky air. "I won't blow up the sodding place! Geez, I was just trying to help."

"Maybe we don't want your help!" Ron called. "No, we definitely don't want it!"

Malfoy caught his breath and started to smooth out the creases in his robes. "Too bad, I'm already here. Though I suppose, I could just hang back and watch you be eaten by a Basilisk."

"Oh shut up," Harry rolled his eyes and made his way to the still present gap in the rubble. He was glad he was wearing a sweater and not robes, as it was a tight fit and he had to push through some intruding bits of rock to make it to the other side. He called to Malfoy on the other side that it'd be best to leave the robe on that side, but the other man refused. In the end Ron was laughing as he watched the Slytherin quite poorly cast mending charms on the snags and tears on his sleeves and trail.

"This is what house elves are for," Harry heard Malfoy mutter angrily as the fabric bubbled and warped instead of coming back together at the seams evenly.

"I did say," he began, but stopped and laughed instead as Malfoy shot him a grievous look. "Come on, the door is right there."

Harry and Malfoy caught up to Ron, who was standing in front of the huge door and inspecting it.

"It's open a little," Ron said studiously. "Looks like someone left in a hurry and forgot to close it properly."

"Just great," Harry sighed. "At least we won't have to growl at it to get it open. Here guys, give me a hand with this."

Harry and Ron began to tug at the heavy door for a while as Malfoy stood there clapping the dust off his hands.

"Excuse me for interrupting you two there," Malfoy cooed, "but _now_ may I use magic?"

"What?" Harry let go of the door and turned to Malfoy. "You can't just blast it open like a bit of rock."

"_Locomotor Door_." Malfoy swished his wand and the spell bounced off the metal with a pang.

Harry folded his arms. "Are you done now? Come on and help us push."

Malfoy reluctantly joined the other two and after some grunting and straining they managed to swing the door on its hinges with a loud _creeeeeeak_.

"Whoa," Malfoy exclaimed as he set his eyes for the first time on the great hall that was the Chamber of Secrets. "This is more like it."

He walked over to a twisted pillar engraved ornately with snakes as Harry and Ron inspected the place a little less closely.

"I never thought a nice pillar was all it took to shut him up," Ron nudged Harry. "Guess I'll have to remember that next time he's causing trouble. Bam, pillar in front of him, and he'll forget what he was doing."

"Sure, Ron." Harry said, not really paying attention to his friend. He craned his neck and tried to get a good look at everything, shuddering a little as he remembered the events that occurred only a few years ago.

* * *

The three searched high and low for almost an hour but didn't come up with anything that suggested the place had been recently tampered with. After a while they were second-guessing if the door had been left open by a recent perpetrator, or had been sitting there like that for years. Ron felt that the latter option was more likely, as he remembered running into the chamber to collect basilisk fangs. The door had been wide open then, however, and he and Hermione hadn't needed to push it open to gain entrance. But, the door could have fallen closed in one of the aftershocks from a particularly strong spell cast on the grounds above. In the end they collectively came to the conclusion that whatever they were looking for wasn't there.

"This was a complete waste of time," Ron huffed as he sat on a stone ledge inside the Chamber.

"Are you kidding?" Malfoy said incredulously. "This place is amazing! I can't wait to tell Father all about it. He'll be so jealous."

"Really, Malfoy, that's all you care about? We're here to find a Basilisk and help Hermione."

"Well there isn't one here. Pity."

"I don't believe this guy, Harry," Ron sighed.

"Don't worry about him," Harry said, deep in thought. "We need to figure out what's going on here. If there isn't a Basilisk here..."

Ron gulped. "Does that mean it's somewhere else?"

"Either that or something else, _someone else_ petrified Hermione."

"But what else could petrify someone?" Ron puzzled.

"Are you kidding me?" Malfoy snapped out of his awestruck gaze and walked to face Ron and Harry. "There's about fifty spells in my father's library that could do the trick, and other families have even larger collections."

"F-fifty?" Ron stammered. "I thought only a Basilisk could do that."

"On the contrary," Malfoy gloated. "I think the only reason the teachers went down that route was because of all the messages left on the walls in blood about the Chamber. If anything's petrified someone, a Basilisk is probably your last possible option."

"And you're telling us this _now?_" Harry stepped forward and instinctively pulled his wand out. Malfoy held his hands up and laughed.

"Easy there Potter, don't go waving that thing around willy nilly. I thought you already knew about petrification spells, what with your whole 'Saviour of the Wizarding World' thing. At least Weasley should have known."

Ron stood up and stepped forward in line with Harry. "And why would I know such a thing?"

"Ohhhh," Malfoy put his hands down and snickered. "Right, I forgot. Forgive me for assuming that you actually cared to read up on the Dark Lord's uprising and the dark magic death eaters use."

"So you admit to petrifying Hermione?" Ron accused.

"What? I've said this a million times already. Why won't you listen? I didn't do anything."

Harry took the pause in conversation to spark up. "But you're the only Death Eater in the school."

"_Now_ you get what I've been saying," Ron said thankfully.

Malfoy put his hands up defensively once more and took a few steps backwards through the door and into the Corridor as he saw the two Gryffindors raise their wands again ever so slightly towards him. "Just because I have the Dark Mark doesn't mean I'm a Death Eater. I'm sure there's people here who care more about finishing off the Dark Lord's deeds than me, and they don't have any marks."

"So you are planning to do what You-Know-Who was trying!" Ron called.

"No! That's not what I meant." Malfoy looked like a mouse stuck in a corner by two ravenous cats, and Harry could see him start to panic. "Potter, I've told you this already. I don't care about the Dark Lord anymore. I mean it!"

"What?" Ron looked from Malfoy to Harry, "When did this happen?"

Harry shrugged and mumbled, "Broom."

"I don't believe him for a second. You're the reason my sister ended up in the infirmary, and you're probably why Hermione is there now."

"Does anyone here pay attention to anything? I'm not the one who threw that curse-"

"But you did curse Harry's broom."

"No, I didn't. Why is it I always have to take the blame? I'm being framed! Why doesn't anyone believe me?" Malfoy shouted in distress.

Harry responded cooly, "That takes trust, Malfoy. Quite frankly, you haven't earned it."

"You're letting him convince you I did this, Potter?" Malfoy looked offended, "I can't believe this. After all I've done-"

"What, being a monumental prat?" Harry shot.

Malfoy lowered his hands slowly once more, then quickly pulled out his wand before the other two had much time to react. The Slytherin shot a stinging jinx at Ron and a jelly-fingers jinx at Harry, with only enough time for Harry to deflect the spell aimed at him. Ron was hit square in the chest and toppled over in a ball, as Harry ducked to the side and behind a pile of rubble.

"You know Malfoy, this looks pretty suspicious," Harry called from behind his cover.

Malfoy shot two more hexes and shouted an angry reply. "For once, I haven't done anything wrong, but you won't listen to any reason! I'm sick of this nonsense, and I'm sick of _you_, Harry Potter! For all I care, your friends can all get kissed by Dementors!"

Harry's cover was being plinked away at one spell at a time, so he had no choice but to stand up and engage in the duel. The air was thicker with dust than before and stung his eyes. He could tell that Malfoy wasn't playing around this time, but what good would it do him to duel in here? Before long, the whole place would cave in and he'd be buried along with Harry and Ron.

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted above the whirring of jinxes and hexes flying past, "Do we really have to do this here?"

"Don't worry, Potter. I know your tricks, and you won't get the best of me!"

"That's not what I meant! This place is about to collapse!"

Malfoy laughed haughtily as he let another spell fly. "Don't worry, this won't take long. _Trust me_."

The duel was unequal and unexpected, which made it that much harder for Harry. On his side, though he had less rubbish to worry about falling on him, he also had to protect Ron, who was moaning unintelligibly on the ground behind a shield charm as pebbles bounced off its side. On the other side Malfoy was firing off spells quickly and efficiently, while Harry had to carefully time each attack whilst shielding so no stray shots of magic would cause the cavern to explode. This was far from the enjoyable duels he'd had with Malfoy, and he felt that he might even be fighting for his life.

Before he knew it, Harry's wand had flown out of his hand and another stinging jinx was cast right at him. He toppled over next to Ron and groaned much like his friend had, and the sounds of spells stopped. When he fell, one of Harry's glasses lenses cracked, and the world became blurrier. He tried to ignore the pain and listen around him, but he was filled with silence. A moment later he felt a sharp pain in his temple as it was struck with something solid, and he heard echoes of Malfoy's voice trailing about him.

"You can have this back, and keep the original. I don't want it anymore, not now that you've soiled it." Malfoy's voice was his usual one, apathetic and full of sneering egotism. "I thought that after all this time you might want to resolve this debacle, but all you seem to want is another enemy. Be careful what you wish for."

Footsteps on rocky ground echoed in the corridor, and after an age Harry knew he was gone.

* * *

The next morning the students of Gryffindor woke up to find a grungy pair of seventh years curled up in front of the fireplace in the common room, fast asleep. While it was an odd sight, no one bothered them until Dean thought it would be funny to see how long it would take to kick them awake. On the fourth prod of Dean's boot, Harry stirred and groaned.

"That hurts, damnit," he grumbled, and tried to go back to sleep.

Another prod came, and another, until finally Harry opened his eyes and stood up quickly, wand in hand, to face his attacker. Unfortunately, he had gotten up too quickly, and he fainted from blood rush.

The next time Harry awoke, he wasn't in the common room by the cozy fire. The place seemed familiarly sterile. _Not again. _With the rate at which he got himself admitted into the infirmary, Harry was fast beginning to hate the place. Madam Pomfrey hurried over to his bed when she saw him stir, and cooed sympathetically.

"Harry Potter, dear, why must you always end up in my hospice? You do know there's a school here too," she tsked. Harry didn't respond, so she continued, "What's happened this time that has you all beaten up? It looks like you've gotten into a nasty fight again. I do hope you haven't, Harry. You know the school rules. Ah yes, but you never were one for the rules. Now, tell me what you've done so I can tend to the other patients."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but his words were a slur. Madam Pomfrey apologised for the potion responsible, but looked at him expecting an answer nonetheless.

"Got into-fight..." Harry struggled with his words, "wi- Ma-foy. He 'tack'd me."

Madam Pomfrey covered her mouth in shock and stroked Harry's hair out of his face. "Oh that can't be true, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy has been in the staff room all morning for a prefect meeting."

Harry waved her away, frustrated. "No- morning... las- nigh'."

"Really Harry, you don't have to make up stories with me." She shrugged and turned to another bed.

Harry pulled himself up to look around. He felt fine, just a bit dusty, other than the slurring he was experiencing. Ron was in the cot next to him, and if he hadn't been so filthy, Harry would've thought he had been sleeping there all night. Harry got out of his bed and walked over to Ron, shoving him a little to wake him. Ron stirred, but it took a few more tries to effectively wake him up.

"Ron, we're in t' infir-mry!" Harry whispered sloppily.

"Wot?" Ron replied, also struck with a case of slurred words. "Where's Her-my?"

Fed up of trying to speak, Harry shrugged and pointed towards the observation room that Ginny was in a week ago. They hadn't been allowed to see Hermione, but Harry guessed she must have been in there. Ron nodded and crawled out of bed, and they both sneaked towards the room for a peek inside.

Madam Pomfrey caught the pair before they could get the door open, and she stood with her hands on her hips as she started to lecture them.

"Really, boys, I didn't think you'd go to the trouble of getting into a tiff just to see Ms. Granger. We told you that she'd be fine, but you don't ever seem to grasp the idea that we don't need your help." She shook her head and sent a piece of paper from her desk flying out of the infirmary, whilst shooing both Gryffindors back to their beds.

A few minutes later Neville popped his head through the door and wandered over to Harry and Ron.

"Hi guys, how's it going?"

Harry shrugged, and Ron gasped as Madam Pomfrey approached once more.

"Mr. Longbottom, thank you for interrupting your free time to come down here." She was quite pleasant to Neville, but shot disappointed looks towards Harry and Ron.

"It's no trouble, the prefect meeting only just finished, so I wasn't doing anything important," Neville shrugged.

"Excellent. I'm giving these two a complete bill of health, so I'd like to make sure you escort them back to the Gryffindor tower without causing any fuss."

"Not a problem, Madam Pomfrey, I-" Neville began, but was cut off.

"While I'm not able to give out punishments to students, I know that you can as a prefect. Might I suggest the removal of twenty points each and a week of detention to these two scoundrels for duelling without teacher supervision? I believe that is the prescribed deterrent for breaking that rule?"

Neville was stunned. He looked back at Harry and Ron, then back to the nurse before responding. "Yes, it is. Is that what happened?" He then turned to whisper at his friends. "Gosh, you had us all worried there when we woke up and you were in the common room covered in scratches and dirt."

"But we didn'," Harry tried to defend himself, but his tongue was too thick to work properly.

"Would you please discuss this somewhere else, gentlemen?" Madam Pomfrey tsked again, and ushered them all out of the hospital wing.

* * *

Throughout that day Harry and Ron were sent to and from the Gryffindor Head's and Headmistress' offices to provide written reports about what had happened that morning. Thanks to Malfoy, it took much longer than they had hoped, as the Slytherin Head had somehow found an air-tight alibi and could not possibly be blamed for the whole mess. Instead of hidden winks and knowing smiles, Rosewood and McGonagall were less than pleased at being fooled around by two trouble-makers who didn't know when to stop the joke. In the end, Ron and Harry had been practically forced to falsify the facts and come up with something boring enough to make the staff happy.

Harry grimaced as he scrawled on the parchment he was given. It was as if he was back in Umbridge's office again reminding himself he mustn't tell lies. He looked down at the faint blur of those words on the back of his hand and frowned. _That sodding prat of a git, Malfoy._

Once they were finally freed of the torture, Harry and Ron were confined to the common room until classes began the next day. Though they hadn't been given detention, points were taken and they were stuck in the common room during all free times for the rest of the month. McGonagall reminded them they were lucky to not be kept in until Christmas break and were still allowed to play Quidditch, but needed to be on their best behaviours or those privileges would be cut out too. After all that happened, they would surely be the ones to understand just how difficult it was for Hogwarts to stay afloat without another student doing something stupid and killing themselves.

_You have no idea._

The younger students looked more afraid of the pair as they walked past, while the sixth and seventh years thought what they had done was pretty cool. Harry spent most of his time spacing out while his fellow upperclassmen garbled on about how understandable it was for Harry and Ron to want to keep up with duelling, and Neville even suggested restarting Dumbledore's Army, to which Dean shook his head.

"We're in peace-times now, Nev. There's no need for that." Dean reasoned.

"So its okay for Harry to practise, but not for us?"

"For what? You want to be a herbologist!"

"It's alright Neville," Harry spoke up finally, though his glassy stare remained. "Ron and I were just messing around. I guess I'm just bored."

"But what about Malfoy?" Ginny peeped from Ron's other side.

"What _about_ Malfoy?"

"Just this morning you were saying he hit Ron with a stinging jinx and you two got into a big fight."

Harry and Ron had agreed that if it was such a big deal now for them to be duelling unsupervised, they might as well just keep the whole Chamber thing a secret, if only for the sake of their flying privileges. They figured that whatever was going on was not in their favour, and perhaps they should stick their heads down for a while for things to cool off.

"Harry," Ginny probed sheepishly. "Was it because of Hermione?"

"What about Hermione?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, what do you mean?" Dean piped up too.

A look of horror swept over Ginny's face as she searched for eye contact with Ron or Harry. "Oh god, you didn't tell them."

Ginny put her hands over her mouth and stood up in a flash. Before Harry could register that Ron had started crying Ginny was already out of the room. Seamus bobbed down to rest his arm reassuringly on Ron's shoulder as Harry gulped.

"Hermione's been petrified," he said stone-faced.

"What?"

"Again!?"

Cries came from the gents and ladies in the circle, and Harry knew some were about to start panicking, but there was nothing he could say or do to stop it.

Neville bent down to Harry's ear and whispered hurriedly, "Did you go back into the Chamber?"

Harry gave the slightest nod, and he was sure no-one else had seen.

"And?"

"Nothing."

"_Nothing_?"

Harry looked back at Neville and decided that he may as well know the whole story, but it was better if everyone else just thought whatever the Headmistress decided to tell them.

"Can you keep a secret?"


	16. Rock Spiders

_Chapter Sixteen – Rock Spiders_

* * *

The next week was a difficult one to bear for Harry. Sure, the Gryffindors still thought he was the sun and revolved around him, but they didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that absolutely nothing good had come to pass since Harry had found Hermione petrified in the library. For one, Hermione had been petrified in the library and they didn't know how to help her! On top of that, Ron was irritable, Ginny had decided to make herself scarce, and the teachers all frowned down at Harry in a way he had never really experienced. But to top it all off, Harry had to deal with Malfoy. It was bad enough that they were taking all of the same classes together, but the prat had to find some excuse to call out Harry during each and every one of them.

In Charms he told Professor Flitwick that Harry had laughed behind his back when giving a particularly boring lecture on the magical properties of leprechaun gold and Harry was given extra homework on the topic; in Herbology he managed to trip Harry into a large pallet of thestral dung which then needed cleaning up; in Defence Against the Dark Arts he cast a reflective curse on the dummy Harry was training with, causing a particularly potent practise hex to bounce back and hit Harry in the chest; and in Transfiguration he walked past the glass orb Harry had just created, knocking it off of the desk to shatter right before Headmistress McGonagall was about to mark everyone's efforts. Unfortunately, nothing Malfoy tried in Potions class convinced Professor Slughorn that Harry was an imbecile, so he tripped himself on purpose and blamed Harry for it, deducting 10 house points… and that was just Monday.

The barrage of taunts from Malfoy was insufferable, and each one made Harry more frustrated than the last. By the end of the week, Harry felt miserable about Hermione being stuck in the hospital wing without any idea of when they'd recover her, his teachers (except Slughorn) had lost all respect for him, and his friends didn't really care what was going on.

"Who cares?" shrugged Ron when Harry complained to him for the umpteenth time about how no one would listen to him in their classes.

"I care, Ron!" Harry groaned, "I'm just about to pull all of my hair out! They all look at me like I'm itching to cause trouble. I even overheard some girls whispering about how they think I'm bored because the war is over and I can't handle the peace!"

"Well you are bored."

Harry frowned at Ron and folded his arms. "Right now I'm angry. I just wish Malfoy would drop it and leave me alone. He's caused enough damage."

"I'd bet that git is bored too," replied Ron, grimacing. "He's not just taking it out on you, either. He took away points from me yesterday for chewing with my mouth open. I don't even do that anymore!'

"Yeah well if he's so bored, maybe he should face me in a real fight and let me kick his ass."

Harry wished with all of his might that Malfoy had kept his silver Slytherin ring, just so that he could send him taunts and give him a piece of Harry's mind. Instead, it was sitting in Harry's bedside drawer under a pile of empty sweet wrappers. Every time he opened the drawer to look at the ring it glimmered at him haughtily, making him slam it shut once again. He was done with helping the good-for-nothing ingrate, and he had decided that Malfoy was out of help's reach. For all Harry cared, he could go and jump in the black lake and have a swim with the grindylows.

Although Harry had decided he was finished with Malfoy, he still spent most of his free time grumbling about him, and as the time grew late he the common room cleared out, his peers retiring to bed one by one. Soon he was sitting by himself after Ron excused himself to go to sleep, and he moved to sit in a large crimson armchair by the fire, watching it crackle and spark in the dim gloom while he warmed himself. After a while, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and he looked up wearily to see Professor Rosewood hovering behind the chair.

"Hi Harry," she smiled, seeming much more pleasant than she had during the past week in his classes. "Not feeling tired?"

"No, Professor Rosewood," Harry looked back down and shook his head at his lap.

"Mind if I sit down?" Harry shook his head again and she sat in another great armchair facing across his own on the other side of the fire. She held a large green ceramic mug, which she then cradled with both hands after sitting, and sipped at it occasionally. It smelled of chocolate and mint leaves, and the scent mixed gently with the earthen smoke from the fireplace. "You seem troubled, Harry Potter," she said softly, taking another sip of her drink.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out with a huff. "That's an understatement, don't you think?"

"Would you like to talk about it?" Her voice remained soft and comforting, and it confused Harry.

"Why are you even asking? I thought you were upset with me, like everyone else is," he sighed.

"Upset with you?"

"Yeah, for making a fool of myself in class, and hexing some of the other students." Two days ago another reflective spell had caused a backfire, but this time it was a small group of Ravenclaws standing back and spectating who took the brunt of the spell. It took Professor Rosewood ten minutes and half a jar of smelling salts to get them back up on their feet, and she reprimanded Harry for being careless with a deduction of points from her own house. Harry had felt utterly humiliated, and the next two days he went into class he decided to stand back on the sidelines and not put anyone at risk of being hit by a stray curse. He had done nothing but sulk during those classes, and was thoroughly considering skipping out next week. Unfortunately, that might have made things worse, and Ron finally convinced him to nut it out.

Rosewood put her mug down on the side table and rested her head on her hands. She looked empathetic, which was the complete opposite of how she had reacted to Harry a few days ago.

"What you did had the potential to be dangerous, but they stood there at their own risk and had plenty of time to shield themselves. If they want to make it out in the real world, they're going to have to learn that not every curse flying your way is expected."

"Yeah, that's true. But you were really mad!"

"And I'm supposed to still be mad two days later?" She feigned offence and crossed her arms, leaning back into the armchair. "That's hardly the mature thing to do."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry sighed. "But-"

"But what, Harry?" Rosewood asked.

"All of the other professors are still upset with me. I feel like I've let them down, like they don't trust me anymore… and they always trusted me."

"Harry, they're not mad or upset with you, they're just under a lot of stress."

Harry scoffed. "Stress. Yeah, right." When he saw Professor Rosewood look at him sternly and he felt the authoritative aura that McGonagall was so well known for producing, he knew that they were kin.

"Let me ask you a question then," she began. "Would you kindly tell me how many times in the past seven years Hogwarts has nearly been closed down?"

Harry stared at Rosewood with confusion.

"Nearly every year some magical malady has occurred that has brought notices of foreclosure to the doorstep of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she said matter-of-factly. "You have absolutely no idea how fortunate you are that this school is still open and you have the opportunity to come here to finish your seventh year. If this place was being run by _anyone else_ you would have been thrown onto the curb and told 'Good luck with your incomplete education, it's a lucky thing that you're good at Quidditch, because that's your only chance at success now'."

Harry blinked as he took in her words, but couldn't think of anything to say, so he said nothing, and Rosewood continued.

"So, can you possibly imagine how much legislative red, yellow, orange, and every-other-coloured tape Minerva has had to go through to not only keep this place open, but also allow you back into the school for another teaching term? Now they see you causing trouble- I don't care if it's your fault or the gingerbread man's- oh speaking of which, I mustn't let my drink go cold." She paused halfway through her speech while she took a long swig of the chocolatey drink and gave a happy sigh, then turned back to Harry and continued. "Where was I? Oh yes. Trouble seems to follow you, Harry, and it worries the other professors. Something horrible has already happened, and they're afraid that you're going to kill yourself trying to get to the bottom of it. Minerva thought that this grounding would keep you out of harms way, and I sincerely hope that you stay put and save yourself a lot of heartache."

Rosewood finished speaking and they sat there in silence as she sipped on her drink again, the scent of mint and chocolate disappearing as she drained the last of it.

"What do you mean, heartache?" Harry finally asked after he had taken in what she had said.

"Well for one, you seem to be on a mission to kill yourself or die trying. That path is not a happy one, trust me. I've seen it happen too many times, and it only hurts everyone you care about; it doesn't save them." Her eyes smiled sadly at Harry as she put the mug down for the last time and placed her hands in her lap. "Secondly, your grades are appalling. At this rate, you'll not even manage a Dreadful if you don't pull up your socks and take this all a lot more seriously. You said you want to be an Auror, yes? Well, if you take a particularly potent flask of liquid luck with you on your interview, you might be given a spot just because you're you, but they really need competent wizards to be able to pick up the slack around their department. Too many Aurors have been prematurely retired recently, and there's no room to train basic level stuff to students with poor grades."

"Wow, you really know a lot more than me about this kind of thing," Harry mused, sitting back into his chair and feeling more overwhelmed about his lack of understanding of the Wizarding world.

"It's nothing that you couldn't learn yourself if you took the time to try," Rosewood urged.

"Well I've been really busy lately with Quidditch and other things," he replied.

"And now you are grounded until Christmas. Unless you go to Quidditch practise every day, I don't see how you're going to be able to keep yourself busy enough to ignore your academic responsibilities."

"Yeah but-"

"But nothing, Harry. You owe it to yourself to give yourself a great future. You've made it through the hard part, and all you have to do now is put in some effort."

The inspirational talk was suddenly cut short as Professor Rosewood took a great yawn and looked back into the fire. It took a moment before Harry realised that she was waiting for him to say something in reply. So, he decided to mention what had been on his mind most recently in hope that she would help him feel better about the situation.

"It would help if some students weren't out to get me," he groaned, moving sideways to rest his chin in the palm of his hand, which was leaning on the armrest of the chair.

"Which students would these be?" Rosewood asked. "I thought you were pretty good at ignoring your celebrity status."

"Well… one student. Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy? He's been giving you trouble for quite some time, hasn't he?" she mused. "Was he the one that made your duelling dummy reflect all of your spells?"

"The very same."

"Well, if that's your biggest problem I think you've got it alright."

"What?" Harry straightened up and looked at his teacher, who was still gazing into the fire. The glow of the hearth made her cheeks look as red as her hair, and she appeared to be comfortably warm and rosy.

"You're Harry Potter. Just think of all of the people you've faced, and the obstacles you've overcome. To think that your biggest threat now is another boy in your grade… well we all go through this sort of thing. It's called adolescence. You may have missed it when you decided to grow up and save humanity, or maybe you're just a late bloomer."

"Yeah, but I still hate him."

At that moment Rosewood turned from the fire and back to Harry, the cosy glow disappearing from her as she frowned. "No, no, no, Harry! You mustn't ever hate him. That is a very powerful emotion and can only lead you down a road you may never come back from."

"But he's such a… a… I don't even know what to call him. I don't know… maybe a midge. A stupid little fly that buzzes around me and won't ever let me be. I can't be happy if he's around."

"Oh, but you can, Harry."

"What do you mean, I can? He's a bull's bollock that's fallen off and left in the dirt. Then when no one else is looking he tries to be some other person, and I swear he's just trying to trick me or something." Harry took another deep breath and sighed with frustration. "I can't understand him, and all he does is try to hurt me."

"Then you need to stop him from hurting you."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"By changing how you think."

"No offence, Professor Rosewood, but fat chance of that happening."

Rosewood took another deep yawn and tried to stifle it with her hands to little avail. "Alas, I think my sleep potion is taking effect, so we will have to cut this conversation short for now." She rose from her chair, but Harry stopped her from walking away.

"Sleep potion? Why are you taking that?"

"It helps me achieve a dreamless sleep. But never you mind about that, Mr Potter. I suspect it is time for you to get some rest too. You have a busy day of studying ahead of you, I should think." She turned to leave but Harry stopped her again.

"Wait, just a moment. How am I supposed to change how I think? It can't be as easy as not hating Malfoy."

"Sure it can," she reassured him. "Wipe the slate clean and start from the beginning. You can change the way you feel about anything if you just give it a second chance."

"And what if he's already blown his second chance?"

"Harry, you poor soul. You of all people should you this by now: one can have many, many second chances."

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning feeling groggy and cursed at himself for staying up so late. His head was cloudy and ached, and he had to stretch out his aching muscles for some time before he felt like himself again. He had stayed by the fire the night before and eventually fallen asleep, curled up in the armchair. By the time the light of dawn peered through the corners of the heavy drapes in the common room, his muscles had pretty much locked into place, and he had to inch his way out of the chair with painful pins and needles.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and it should have made Harry happy to go out and explore the place, but his confinement to Gryffindor tower meant that he was to be cooped up in the common room all day with Ron. Even that premise was disheartening, as Ron had suddenly gained an interest in Hermione's books, hoping beyond hope to find some counter-curse for petrification buried beneath their pages. So far he hadn't even found one other way of the fifty Malfoy had suggested to petrify a person, let alone any counter-curses, so Harry's best friend was short, grumpy, and disinterested. In the end, Harry was left to his own vices and decided to go back to bed and sleep till noon.

When Harry awoke a second time, he found Ron looming over his bed with a frighteningly leery smile on his face. Harry pulled himself to sit up in the bed, shocked at the sight of his friend.

"What are you doing?" Harry rubbed his eyes and stared awkwardly at Ron.

"I think I've found it Harry! A cure!" Ron sounded cheerful.

"How long have you been standing there?" Harry queried, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

"I don't know. I found a cure and came to tell you, but you were sleeping. I didn't know what to do, and there's no one else here, so I figured I'd wait and tell you."

"Okay Ron. Er, sit down."

Ron looked around the room and sat on his bed, then thrust the book into Harry's lap. It was opened one third of the way at a page with a picture of a spindly-legged spider. Harry grabbed his glasses from the side table and the world became much clearer. He then realised that Ron wasn't looking as crazed as he had thought, just a mix of tired, hopeful and a little frightened.

_You'd think magic would have a cure for bad eyesight_, Harry pondered to himself, suddenly realising he had never thought about it before. Instead of worrying about his eyes, he looked down onto the page and read aloud the contents.

"The rock spider: a small, almost undetectable arachnid with a fearsome venomous bite. Found most commonly in mountainous regions, this spider makes its home amongst loose pebbles on the steep slopes. Secretes a granular fluid that solidifies upon contact; if injected causes arteries to clog with solid rock. Incurable. Conservation status: extremely rare."

As Harry finished reading the excerpt Ron pointed at the book and nodded. "It was spiders! I hate spiders! And it's incurable, what will we do!?"

It took all of Harry's patience to stop Ron from shrieking about spiders before he could talk some sense into his friend. "Ron! This isn't it! Ron, calm _down!_"

Eventually Ron quietened down and looked at Harry solemnly with a sob. "We can't save her, Harry."

"Yes we can, Ron. This isn't it."

"What? What do you mean? Of course it is. I've been looking all week in all of the books in Hermione's room. This has to be it."

Harry put his hand on Ron's shoulder and hushed him. "It isn't. We can still save her. Look, it says that the venom clogs a person's arteries. That wouldn't be enough to keep Hermione completely rigid. Trust me, I saw them taking her away, and her whole body was completely stuck. Look here," Harry pointed to a diagram on the next page. It was a sketch of a man with his limbs stuck in place, but the rest of his body was all floppy. "This drawing, it's what they look like when a rock spider bites them. Hermione looked nothing like that."

"So, it's not the spiders?" Ron whimpered.

"No Ron, it's not."

Harry thought his friend would be happy, but instead he buried his face in a pillow and cursed. "I can't do it, Harry!" Ron cried, after pulling his face from the pillow. "I've tried all week, and I can't find a cure. It's something Hermione is good at, not me."

"Yeah, she always seems to have a way to magically come up with the answers no one else can think of."

"So what are we supposed to do?"

Harry shrugged. Perhaps Professor Rosewood was right, and they should let the teachers sort it all out. Or perhaps there was another way to deal with this that they hadn't thought of.

"Ron," Harry started, "what if we're coming at this the wrong way."

"What do you mean? This is how we've always done it."

"Not always, Ron. Just mostly."

Ron looked at Harry with a puzzled stare, still trying to gain control of his sobs.

"You've been reading all of Hermione's books, right?"

"Yeah, Ginny got them for me, cause the girl's dorm still has that slide charmed in the stairway."

"Well, Hermione has a great collection, but what she's been struck with is some very dark magic. I doubt that she'd have anything on that topic."

Ron's eyes brightened as he realised what Harry was saying. "So you think we need to go to the forbidden section of the library?"

"That's exactly what I think."

"Oh, no!" Ron's hands went up to his head as he remembered something that Ginny had told him recently. "After they took Hermione out of the library, Ginny says they dismantled the forbidden section. Said it was too dangerous to have those books within reach of young students."

"So where are the books now?" Harry asked.

"I think they've been shipped out of Hogwarts altogether, taken to the Ministry."

Harry slouched back into his bed and frowned. "So now what are we supposed to do? How are we supposed to get a hold of those books now?"

"Why don't you ask Malfoy? He's a death eater after all."

"What?" Harry shot back at Ron.

"Sorry Harry, I'm just kidding. I know you don't think he's-"

"No Ron, that's a brilliant idea! If he doesn't have those books, I'm sure someone in Slytherin would! We just have to get a hold of them."

"And then we can save Hermione! Thank god it wasn't the spiders. I hate spiders."

* * *

After moments of quiet deliberation, a curt knock came from the side of the bedroom door facing the hallway into the dormitories. Ron and Harry stopped in their tracks, shoving the thick leather-bound book boasting rock spiders under Ron's bed and checking around them for anything that might give the game away, before Harry called, "Who's there?"

"It's Ginny," came a muffled sigh of exasperation through the thick wooden door.

"Ginny?" cried Ron, "What are you doing?"

Instead of bothering to call through the door again, she turned the latch with a soft _click_ and pushed the door open.

"Professor Rosewood asked me to keep an eye on you while she was out in Hogsmeade," she said softly, shying away from Harry's gaze.

"Looking after us? What are we, twelve?" Ron thought he should be looking after his younger sister, not the other way around.

"Well, I'm Head Girl, so I have to stay back and make sure no one causes any trouble today," Ginny's boldness glowed in her defiance of her brother.

"Well then, we're not doing anything wrong, just talking about how we're going to save Hermione."

"Oh," Ginny's eyes fluttered back towards Harry and she blushed a violent shade of red. "Well, I… er-"

"I know you didn't do it Ginny," Harry called to her, but it didn't seem to make much difference.

"Ginny, you can't keep running from us!" Ron called out the door as his sister retreated down the stairs and out of sight. "That girl is so weird. It's all your fault, Harry."

Ron nudged Harry, who looked back at him in surprise. "Why is it my fault?"

"You've always known she's been bonkers over you from the beginning, and she'll always be bonkers over you."

"Hey, she's the one running away."

"Like you've tried to catch her!" Ron joked with his friend about the frivolousness of girls, but deep down wished that Harry and Ginny would just kiss and made up. It hurt him to see his sister so miserable when the person she wanted to be with was right there in front of her and so very un-petrified.

"Yeah, well, it's complicated." Harry ran his fingers through his messy hair and rubbed his temples.

"Surely it can't be that complicated," started Ron, "either you want to be with her, or you don't."

Silence lingered in the air for a short while as Harry moved on to scratch at the scar on his forehead.

"Ah, well… maybe it's not so complicated then."

Though Harry's response was a shock, it wasn't all too unbelievable. After all, they weren't exactly thick as thieves since school was back up and running, and their responsibilities definitely made it difficult to find some alone time. Secretly, Ron was pleased that he and Hermione hadn't been reinstated as Prefects; sure he missed the bathroom and perks that came with the role, but nothing beat curling up by the fire with friends after dinner with no responsibilities other than homework to bother him. Ron gave Harry an understanding nod, and decided to leave it at that. It was then that another knock came at the open door. Ginny was standing there looking deflated.

"I'm supposed to tell you that you're allowed to come down to the Great Hall for lunch today. There are quite a few students from other houses who didn't go out today."

"Oh right, thanks," Harry gave a curt nod, which Ron replicated.

And Ginny was gone.

* * *

Ron was surprised at how many students had opted out of the Hogsmeade trip for the day as he sat down to lunch. The Gryffindor table, and Slytherin's for that matter, was filled with mostly lower schoolers, but the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables were around half full. What was even more surprising was that the weather was fine, and in the past he had risked heavy snowfalls just to step off of the grounds. Unfortunately, everyone Ron knew from either house had decided to go into town, and so he wasn't too keen to try to find out what the problem was.

"If they're missing a beautiful day like this just because they're scared of monsters under their beds," Ron began, when lunch appeared on the table before him. Alas, he did not finish what he was saying, as the temptation of food became too much.

Hot rolls, pork sausages, bacon, and roast vegetables. Treacle tarts, chocolate puddings, and scones. The food was fresh, and for the first time in a week he felt his stomach rumbling. Best of all, there were fewer people to fight for the best bits of food. He dug in and filled his plate quickly; savouring the rich gravy he had smothered on his meal.

"Wow Ron, slow down before you swallow the whole plate," Harry teased, clearly glad to see his friend back to normal.

"I didn't realise I was so hungry," Ron replied through a half-chewed mouthful.

"Gross, cover your mouth when you talk, Weasley!"

Ron turned around to see Draco Malfoy behind him pulling a tetchy frown.

"Shove it, Malfoy!" Ron defended. He then took a big bite out of a bread roll and proceeded to chew with his mouth open right at the Slytherin.

"That is foul, Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor for being disgusting in front of a Prefect."

"What are you even doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, ignoring the overt power display.

"Unfortunately, I've been left to babysit the likes of you. As Head Boy, I'm to watch over the castle while some of the teachers are gone." He stood up pompously, trying his best to shield his view from Ron, who continued to eat slovenly in hopes of getting another reaction.

"I'll dock points again, Weasley," Malfoy threatened.

"Shove off, Malfoy!" Harry called. "He's only doing it to get a rise out of you for being such a prick."

Malfoy turned back to Harry and frowned. "Who do you think you are calling Head Boy names like that? I'll dock points from you too."

"Oh, shove it. That won't stop me from slagging you off." Harry had a cruel look in his eye as he grimaced back at the already-frowning Slytherin, and Ron noticed he was getting good at putting on a dark persona.

Ron dropped his act for interest in watching Harry and Malfoy carefully. The two seemed to had some bad blood bubbling recently, and the fact that Ron wasn't in the know made it all the more suspicious. He wasn't quite sure, but he suspected that there was more behind the picture than what was on display between Harry and Malfoy, and it appeared that the opportunity to find out why Harry was acting so strangely lately was finally presenting itself.

"Oh yeah, Potter? What will have you back off? Another duel? Fat chance! I've already got my wand back, thank you so kindly. Now I don't need to keep the charade up any longer and mummy can have her wand back."

Malfoy's words licked at a once long extinguished flame, and now his boldness was there for all to see. Perhaps it was because none of his Slytherin cronies were around to see, or because the sight of Harry made his blood boil so quickly. Either way, Malfoy suddenly seemed very, very sure of himself, and Ron still hadn't quite picked up the whole story.

"You should be interesting competition now." Harry said cooly.

Ron shot a glance from Malfoy to Harry, and back again. "You've been _helping him?_" he hissed at his friend after taking some time to put two and two together.

"Malfoy had this crazy idea that if we snuck out and did some late-hour duelling, he'd be able to get control of his Hawthorn wand," Harry explained, still unrattled. "Turns out he managed to sort out his issues when we- er… when we had that chance encounter that he insists didn't happen."

"And what chance encounter might that be, boys?" Malfoy loomed over. "Nothing else you'd like to rat yourself out for? I'd love to see the two of you expelled."

"Can it Malfoy!"

The last voice was a new one to enter the conversation. Ginny was standing behind the fray with her arms crossed. She looked pale and peaky, but colour was already flushing into her cheeks when she confronted Malfoy. Of course, Ginny Weasley was Head Girl to Draco Malfoy's Head Boy. The two didn't get along at all, so they just ignored each other and went about their duties separately. Unfortunately for Malfoy, Ginny didn't tolerate him bullying other students, and she especially didn't like him bothering her brother and friend.

"I'll take watch here while I have my lunch, so you can go disappear to somewhere else," she said curtly and sat down next to Ron.

It was then that Malfoy looked stuck in a conundrum, having too much fun tormenting the Gryffindors, but not keen enough to start a fuss with another Prefect. _So he does have a weakness_, Ron thought to himself with a smug smile. Eventually Malfoy decided to leave, but not before mentioning a cautionary tale to the trio.

"By the way, if you're after any books on dark magic, McGonagall's had them all shipped away. That includes the books any students might have brought with them. Perhaps, Mr Potter, your best bet now is to sit it out and let the teachers handle it."

He gave a cackle of a laugh and strode out of the hallway and into the main castle. Ron, Harry, and Ginny sat and stared at each other as they processed what Malfoy had just said.

"How did he know we were after books?" Harry pondered.

"You're not exactly subtle, you know," Ginny sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Ginny replied by turning to the table and filling her plate with some lunch.


	17. The Bleachers in Hogwarts are Very Tall

_Chapter Seventeen - The Bleachers in Hogwarts are Very Tall_

* * *

The days crept by slowly, much slower than the rate at which the mercury was dropping. As the days got colder in lieu of the approaching winter Harry noticed the people becoming more irritable. Malfoy was still being a pest at every opportunity, and most teachers did what they could to separate the two feisty young men. Harry suspected that Rosewood had said something and he appreciated that at the very least. It didn't stop them from chastising Harry's school performance, though, and he was beginning to feel the pinch. Final year was something quite different to anything Harry had previously experienced; full of pop quizzes and double homework every other day. There was even a test to be held before the Christmas break to gauge each student's progress halfway through the school year. Each day that passed brought the worried feeling from the back of Harry's mind a little closer to surfacing, until he started to become overwhelmed with it.

It started off lightly, as Ron muttered to Harry in Transfiguration that he wished Hermione could be there to lend them a hand. His eyes were hard and cold, puffy from crying whenever he thought no one was watching. He was still yet to find anything remotely close to a lead on petrification, and looked like he had finally given in and accepted that he was of no use.

The day that Ron Weasley gave up on saving Hermione Granger was the day that Harry Potter realised the depression setting back in. Soon it swam around him like a cloud of dark smoke that no one else could see. He breathed it in and it flooded his body down to his soul, and he felt sick to his stomach. Nobody noticed when Harry stopped trying to smile. The teachers kept frowning, his friends looked away, and Malfoy sneered with satisfaction.

"What an arrogant pile of dung."

Ron looked blankly at Harry over the table. "What?" he asked as he slurped on a spoonful of oatmeal.

"N-nothing." Harry looked up from his sulking spot, where his arms were folded and his body slumped over as he sat.

"He's muttering about _Malfoy_ again, I bet," Dean laughed. "Seriously Harry, we know he's an arse, but you should not be worrying about him at a time like this."

"Yeah," Ron smiled, "It's the weekend and the Quidditch game is on in a couple of hours. I'm not going to waste my time worrying about stupid school stuff when there's all that sweet, sweet air outside just waiting to be breathed in by yours truly."

Harry frowned as Ron ate another mouthful of his breakfast. "I don't know. I think I'm too tired to go out today."

"But _Harry_, we're on strict orders to stay inside till Christmas. I don't know about you, but I want to watch some action!"

Dean slapped Harry on the back cheerfully, "It'll help you take your mind off of Malfoy! Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff, man! Who's going to win?"

"I personally think Hufflepuff will win. It's snowy out, and no one ever has much luck with the snitch when there's that much precipitation in the air."

"Whoa, Ron. Where'd that big word come from outta you?"

Harry had to join Dean for a moment and sit back in amazement at Ron. "_Precipitation?_" It was enough to snap him out of his grim stupor for a few seconds.

"What?" Ron shrugged as he scraped the last dregs of oats from his bowl. "I've been reading Hermione's books, and let me tell _you_, you have to be fluent in smart to be able to understand even half of it."

"No wonder you've been getting so many E's lately." Dean said in awe. "Ravenclaw eat your heart out, our King here, Mr Weasley, he's got the goods."

And with that, Dean began a particularly loud verse of 'Weasley is Our King' while Harry clasped his hands over his ears and walked out of the Great Hall.

"C'mon Ron," He called. "Let's get there early so we have good seats."

Ron followed him out and into the grounds, making a very obvious display of soaking up what little sunshine was peering through the cloudy skies.

"Do you even care that Hermione's sitting on a slab in St. Mungo's?" Harry grumbled under his breath.

Luckily, Ron was too busy loudly breathing in and out to hear the remark.

* * *

The atmosphere was loud and boisterous outside on the bleachers, and Harry's throat caught when he noticed what he had been missing for the past couple of weeks. Even though Ron had Hufflepuff tipped to win, they sat with Luna and the rest of the Ravenclaws in their year for a change. She wore broom-shaped earrings and a silver tiara with her uniform, looking much more demure than usual at these events. Still, the huge blue gem set in her tiara twinkled in the sunlight, and it warmed Harry's heart a little. Which was good, because the snow had started to pick up, coating the field and bleachers in a soft layer of white. Soon, the students seemed like part of the scenery.

Harry enjoyed watching the game, despite its quick pace and the collective shiver felt by everyone in the stands. The snow had really muddled everyone up, and it was difficult to see what was going on. Even the commentary student calling the shots was mostly silent as his head was craned up to the sky like everyone else's and he tried to figure out what was happening on the field. Every now and then Harry thought he caught a glimpse of something golden in the corner of his eye, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared, and Harry didn't care enough to search the sky.

The game dragged on for almost an hour, and by then most of the cheering stopped as students with throats red and raw simply watched and whispered to one another. Harry sat and thought about how, when he tried to remember being a kid from Surrey, it was all just so surreal. Even with everything seemingly so hopeless, he was sitting on bleachers high in the air, watching people fly around on brooms while the crowd sat in silence. It was almost enough to lighten his mood.

But then a dark blur the size of an owl rushed past him and landed with a dull, quiet thud. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Ron slouched over the side of the balustrade, the top half of his body dangling precariously but otherwise not moving. The thoughts to _pull him up!_ and _help him!_ screamed out to Harry, but it was cold and his arms ached, making him slow. Too slow. Too much of Ron's weight was hanging over the side, and he fell.

Sometime between Ron falling and Harry shouting for him, the commentator shouted, "Ravenclaw has the snitch and has ended the match!"

Cheers erupted from the stands and students leapt to their feet as Harry called out for his friend.

"Ravenclaw may have captured the snitch, but they did it too soon! Hufflepuff wins by points 300 to 270!"

Harry clung to the railing, looking over and shouting as Ron fell. He fumbled for his wand, but by the time it was out he couldn't think of what spell to use. In that moment he realised his teachers were right, and that Harry was completely useless.

Ron hit the ground and the snow scattered around him. He looked like he was making a snow-angel, but he wasn't. It was only then that Harry made a frightful wail for his friend and his ineptitude, and it was only then that the crowd came to a lull. Only Harry's voice remained, and every head turned to him.

* * *

"Mr Potter, please calm down and-"

"Calm _down_? You expect me to calm down right now? Ron fell 50 metres to the ground and has _head injuries_. I can't even talk to anyone because my other best friend has been _petrified_."

Harry felt as though his heart was trying to leap out of his chest, making him nauseous and fidgety. He tried to rise from the stiff-backed chair that sat in front of the Headmistress' desk, but was shoved straight back down onto it by forceful hands. Professor Rosewood's forceful hands.

"Yes Mr Potter. We expect you to calm down _right this very instant_."

A vial of thick yellow liquid was dropped into his hands.

"Drink," Rosewood instructed, "or I'll force it down your throat if I have to."

"That's enough Evelyn, I think Mr Potter understands."

McGonagall sat at her desk in front of them while a self-writing quill scribbled down their conversation.

"What is this?" Harry looked down at the vial in his shaking hands. "Why is it so important for me to drink this?"

"It's to help you calm down so we can actually talk to you." Rosewood sounded exasperated.

Harry rolled his eyes, but caught sight of McGonagall and decided drinking the potion was his only choice. He downed it in one gulp, and just like that he felt his shoulders fall back and his whole body relaxed.

"Whoa, this stuff is cool," Harry bemused, but McGonagall and Rosewood snapped him out of his stupor before he could even settle into it.

"As you're now feeling more composed, Mr Potter, would you please inform us of what happened during the Quidditch match today?" McGonagall asked.

Harry sat there and blinked for a few seconds, and he noticed McGonagall send a look above him. She was probably exchanging her look with one from Rosewood, who still stood behind Harry. He let his mind settle and took a deep breath.

"It all happened so fast," Harry began. "Something came flying from out of nowhere and must have hit Ron. Then he fell over the side of the bleachers."

His thoughts and voice were oddly calm, though he had an inkling that he shouldn't have been. It made it easier for the thoughts to flood his head, and even though he wanted to be distressed, the panic wouldn't come.

"What hit Mr Weasley? Did anyone else notice?"

"I don't know what hit him. It was dark, and kind of small. Not like, really small. More like-" Harry gestured with his hands, as if he were holding an invisible sphere a little smaller than a basketball. "-that."

McGonagall nodded slowly. "Yes, thank you. And bystanders? You were with your friends, right? Did they see what happened?"

Harry shook his head a little. "I don't think so. They were all watching the game, and the snow made it hard for anyone to see, so I think they were all concentrating really hard. Ron was on the end of the row up front, so there weren't many people around him."

"Why didn't you stop him from falling, Harry? You could've just grabbed him."

Harry looked up to see Professor Rosewood glaring down at him with hard eyes, but he was unable to get worked up.

"I tried, but I was too slow. I guess I was in shock."

"Why didn't you stop him from hitting the ground, at least? You have a wand, why didn't you use it?"

"Are you accusing me of something, Professor Rosewood? Because I would never push Ron off of the bleachers. _Never._" His voice lingered, but the potion fuelled no emotion, only sincerity.

"All I'm saying is that a simple levitating charm would've done the trick. I believe that spell is part of the first year curriculum, I believe." Her tone was most certainly accusatory, and she smirked almost as irritatingly as Malfoy, but it wasn't enough to set Harry off.

"I froze, okay. Maybe even literally. It's cold outside. Why are you asking these questions? I didn't do this."

Rosewood straightened and moved to lean on McGonagall's desk in front of Harry. "I know," she said simply, all animosity suddenly gone. "Just know that others might not be so willing to believe you."

Harry blinked at her in confusion. "Why would someone ever think I would do something like this?"

"The tabloids love a good story, and your teachers say you've been acting up for the past two weeks. I could almost even agree with them." She gave a wink. "People could think you're turning up the heat, making things more interesting for yourself."

"Luckily for Mr Potter," McGonagall interrupted, "that we have proof he did no such thing. Madame Hooch has informed me that Mr Weasley was struck by a rogue bludger."

Harry sighed in relief. _Why can't I just be normal?_

"Unfortunately, things are a little more complicated than that. The bludger appears to have been sent towards Mr Weasley with malicious intent. The remnants of a spell was discovered on it, meaning it wasn't necessarily a beater who sent it your way. Anyone could be responsible. And, as this is the second misadventure we have experienced since the re-building of Hogwarts, the Ministry will be taking no chances. They have assigned two of their best Aurors to investigate, which is why Professor Rosewood tried to interrogate you. Mr Potter, I have always trusted in you, and I still do, but it appears that someone is targeting your friends."

Harry sat in silence and processed the information and felt perfectly calm. It was later that day when he was in his dorm when the potion wore off. Suddenly everything that seemed perfectly reasonable was completely bolloxed up.

_Hermione's gone, now Ron's gone, and… Aurors? At Hogwarts?_ He thought. _What have I gotten myself into?_


End file.
